Passages
by Isabeau of Greenlea
Summary: In the days surrounding his fourteenth birthday, Brandmir finds out the truth and peril finds him.
1. Prologue

August 1 3021-

"The Prince will see you now, Master Brandmir," his secretary said, and Brandmir entered with just the smallest bit of trepidation, for if his great-uncle wanted to speak to him, he did usually not do it so formally. So he was mentally casting back over the last week or two, to see if he'd inadvertently committed some offense or failed to complete some task in a satisfactory manner.

The windows were wide open against the August heat, and high up on the hill as the castle was, breezes were obligingly blowing in from the ocean to cool the room. Blowing a bit too obligingly as it turned out, for when he entered, Imrahil was scrambling to find things to act as makeshift paperweights for the stacks of papers that he'd apparently been working on and that were now being dislodged by the breeze. He'd gotten two stacks under control as Brand entered, and seeing a third stack on the corner of his desk was still not weighted, the boy dived for it and slapped his hand down upon it just before the documents could scatter.

"Thank you, lad!" Imrahil exclaimed. "Your timing is impeccable!" He opened a drawer in his desk, looked inside and rummaged fruitlessly for a moment, then exhaled a sharp, irritated breath. Leaning over the desk, he set his own hand beside Brand's then said, "Go to the bookshelf and get me a book, lad. That will have to serve-I don't know where that paperweight the Glassmakers Guild gave me has gotten to."

Brand did as he was bidden, and once the papers were properly secured, the Prince sat back in his chair with a relieved sigh. Brand seated himself and waited. After a moment, Imrahil became aware of the solemnity of the stare fastened upon him. He smiled.

"No, Brandmir, you're not in trouble! I'm sorry if I made you think that. It's just that I've had news, important news concerning you, and I wanted to tell you in private."

"What is it, sir?"

The Prince looked down at the center of his desk, where rested a smaller pile of what looked like two or three documents. His long fingers selected the topmost one.

"A letter from your uncle arrived by courier today. He tells me that Lady É owyn was safely delivered of a male child, named Elboron, two weeks ago. At the time of the writing, mother and child were hale and well, though he does say that É owyn was much wearied by the latter part of the confinement, coming as it did in the hottest part of the year."

"That's good news, sir," Brand said politely, not sure what reaction Imrahil was expecting. "Is the baby named after my father?"

"In part," the Prince said, his gaze sharpening. "Are you sure that you are comfortable about this, Brandmir?"

Brand thought for a moment. _Now I won't **ever** have to become Steward!_ It didn't take any more than that. He smiled. "Of course I am, sir! You told me when we first met that I probably would never inherit. I am glad for Uncle!" The smile faded a little bit. "I know better than anyone else that people prefer their own blood to step-folk. Uncle will be happy now." The Prince frowned.

"Your uncle cares a great deal for you, Brandmir. I don't know if you can truly appreciate it or not, but it was _because_ he cared for you that he left you here."

Brand nodded. "I've never had an argument about that, sir. It was what I wanted."

Imrahil's expression lightened. "Good. I'm glad you understand that, and I'm very glad you're happy for Faramir. I would suggest," and this suggestion was in the tone that Brand had long since learned meant that it was actually a command, "that you write to your uncle and aunt in the next couple of days to congratulate them. I'll see that it's put in with the next courier package back to Minas Tirith. Let me know if you have anything for Serl or your mother to go as well."

"Yes, sir. Is that all, sir?"

"No, it is not. There is more." Imrahil held up the second document in the pile. Brand looked at it, intrigued. It was much more interesting looking than a mere letter- there were illuminated letters at the beginnings of sentences, and seals depended from it by colorful ribbons.

"What is that?"

"When my sister married your grandfather, she took with her a substantial dowry. Part of that dowry was some properties in Belfalas. With her death, the land descended to your father and Faramir. With Boromir's death, it became Faramir's alone. He has deeded those lands to you and your heirs, Brandmir. It is a sufficient enough grant to carry with it a patent of nobility and that is what this-" and he held up the third document, which was also sealed and even more elaborate than the last, "-is."

Stunned, Brand was struggling to comprehend. "Then…I'm a _lord _now?"

"You are. And of sufficient status to be eligible for a Council seat under the old rules, though Aragorn has changed that somewhat and wisely has all manner of folk seated on his Council."

"May I see them?" he asked, meaning the documents. Wordlessly, Imrahil handed them over. Brand spent some little time studying them, but the Westron he was finally starting to read fluently seemed to have little in common with this language, which was filled with 'wherefore's and 'aforementioned's and 'hitherto's. He could understand a little of the parts that described the lands, and not much else, but the signatures were clear-his uncle's, clear and elegant, and the king's, bold and flourishing, with just the tiniest bit of sloppiness to it as if written in haste. He fingered the lead seals, which held upon them the sigils of the Steward and the King. The third document, the ennoblement, also held Imrahil's signature and the seal of Dol Amroth.

"Brand?" His great-uncle's voice seemed to be coming from a great distance. "How are you feeling?"

That would have been difficult if not impossible to describe. But he did have a question, and to his inner horror, his traitor tongue voiced it readily enough.

"Sir, am I being bought off?"

The Prince was not offended. "I can see where it could seem that way to you, Brand," he said evenly. "And I would be lying were I to say that there was not some element of that in this. But if it makes you feel better, Aragorn and Faramir and I have all been talking about how best to treat you since I first learned of your existence. The gifting of the dower lands occurred to Faramir almost immediately when he met you, but it took time to arrange things. He had his wedding to get through, and he wanted to consult his wife, they needed my signature on certain documents, that sort of thing. We've had couriers going back and forth all this time. The paperwork was finished a little while ago, but then it was decided to wait until the baby was born to announce it."

"I thought so." Brand grinned suddenly. "My mother has four children, sir. And every time she had another baby, the older children would get presents. Little things, but they helped them not to think she didn't love them any more, when the baby took so much of her time and attention. Of course, _I_ never got anything-Stepfather always said my present was that I still had a roof over my head."

Imrahil chuckled. "I keep forgetting that your family is bigger even than mine! It does give one insights single children lack." Then he sobered. "Brandmir, what these papers make you is landed, ennobled and your father's recognized bastard. What you can never be is his _heir_. You do understand that, don't you?"

Brand nodded. "I understand, sir, and I understand why. It would cause trouble for the kingdom."

"It would indeed. But this is also helpful in other ways. By ennobling you now, and getting the court accustomed to you, if the worst should happen, your position would be much more secure. For instance, if some sort of horrible fever were to sweep through Minas Tirith and slay Faramir and his heirs, Valar forefend that that should ever happen, then as a known nobleman, it would be much easier for you to assume the Stewardship than if you were merely a Swan Knight. So you're not completely off the hook yet."

"Trust me, sir, I want my uncle to live for a long time and sire many, many sons!" Brand exclaimed. "I never wanted to be the Steward! I'm not even sure how I'm supposed to take care of these lands Uncle has given me!"

"Well, you could do as some men do, and hire a competent steward and not worry yourself over the matter at all," said Imrahil in a tone that indicated he didn't think much of that idea. "In fact, there is a steward over them now, whom Faramir consulted with from time to time. He was only just getting the time after the war to take a more direct role when he decided to give them to you. That man is a worthy individual and you may safely leave matters in his hands until you are sixteen and can take up rule yourself. I stand regent to you in this matter and you will swear fealty to me the next time I convene a Western Council."

"Yes, sir." Brand thought about the people on the lands he'd been given and wondered how they would receive the news that they'd been given into the hands of a thirteen-year-old bastard, particularly if the steward was such a competent fellow.

As if divining his thought, Imrahil smiled reassuringly and said, "Elphir and I will be glad to teach you what you need to know, Brandmir, and by the time you have governance of the lands in truth, you should be quite capable. And surely you know that even after they are in your charge, if you ever have need of anything, including advice, you can come to us? We are your kin, lad!"

Comforted, Brand said, "Of course I realize that, sir. Is that all you wanted to tell me?"

"Yes, lad-unless you'd like to have some sort of party to celebrate?"

"No, sir. I think I should wait until I see my uncle again."

"That's considerate of you. Since the odds are good I'll be going up to Minas Tirith very shortly, you may accompany me then, and we'll all meet little Elboron together. I'm looking forward to it. And now, I think I've kept you away from your lessons quite long enough! You may return to them, my lord!"

Grinning, Brand asked "Are you sure there is not something more you'd like to teach me about governance this afternoon, sir? I'm sure it would be ever so much more interesting than sums or Haradric."

"No, I have my own paperwork to deal with this afternoon, you scamp! Be off with you, _Lord_ Brandmir!"


	2. Happy Birthday to you

September 12, 3021-

The last arrow thudded into the target. There was a moment's silence. "Clear?" asked the esquire at one of the butts.

"Clear," Brand agreed at the other, laid his bow on the stand and walked towards the target to retrieve his arrows.

Hethlin strolled over to look at his grouping, which was for the most part clustered towards the center of the target. "Not bad," she said, "not bad at all for this distance. You're improving, Brand. Though this one," and she indicated one towards the right-hand of the target with a grin, "got away from you. Wind, from the look of things."

Brand glared at the offending arrow for a moment before carefully grasping it to withdraw it. "Stupid breeze!" he agreed. "I will never figure out how to allow for that!" He looked over at her target, where the bull's-eye looked like a hedge-hog, the arrows were clustered so thickly, and sighed in despair.

She chuckled. "It just takes time. And a lot more arrows than you've shot thus far. Though you've made a good start for it being such a late one. And I can't fault your dedication. I thought you'd sleep in this morning, it being your birthday and all."

"We are leaving for Minas Tirith in a week. I didn't figure there would be much chance to shoot while we're on the road."

"That's true enough," Hethlin agreed. "So I'll excuse you for the duration of the journey there and back. But in Tirith, and when you return back here, you must try to shoot an hour a day. I'll be very disappointed if I come back from Dale and find you've forgotten everything."

"I'll try, Lady Hethlin. Will you shoot with me in Minas Tirith while you are still there?"

"If I am able. You know, Brand, you might ask your _uncle_ to shoot with you. Faramir was said to be the best archer in the city during the war."

"Do you think he would?"

"Well, he wanted to see you when you came to the City. The two of you will have to find something to do to pass the time, won't you? As for when you come back here, practice is what you will need more than anything else, but I've spoken to Sergeant Torlas in the foot, and he says that you're welcome to come down and shoot with them. You might have to re-arrange your class schedule to do that though-they shoot at a much more civilized hour than I do." The sun was up over the horizon, but not by much. Archery was not part of the standard curriculum for Dol Amroth's esquires, and the former Ranger of Ithilien had to squeeze her shooting time in where she could. Training Brand in archery was a duty the Armsmaster had assigned her a year ago when the boy had first expressed an interest, and his regularly scheduled lessons were in the afternoon, but more often than not he came to shoot with her in the morning as well. Starting so late in life meant that Brand needed all the practice he could get.

"Thank you, Lady Hethlin. I'll go see the sergeant if I need help." They gathered their arrows and inspected them, then walked back down range to replace them in their quivers. When Hethlin had slung hers back over her shoulder, she looked over at Brand, noting as she did that his eyes were almost level with hers now.

"Speaking of birthdays, Brand, I have something for you." She started unbuckling her swordbelt while the boy watched her, intrigued. When it was unfastened, she slid her sheathed knife off of it and handed it to Brand, then re-buckled her belt.

"This belonged to your father. He gave it to me right before he left for Imladris. It is real sea-steel and he told me his father gave it to him for his fourteenth birthday. So it seems fitting that you should have it for yours."

"This was _Father's_?" Brand turned the knife in its sheath over a couple of times, then half-drew the blade and examined it appreciatively.

"Yes."

He looked up at her. "But if he gave it to you, I shouldn't take it from you…"

"He gave it to me upon the condition that I look after your Uncle Faramir, and stay close to him in battle. I think I fulfilled that condition. And I think that he would want you to have it now."

It was one of Boromir's sunrise smiles breaking over Brand's face at that moment, if only he had known it. Hethlin, who remembered the Captain-General quite well, smiled too, in pleased recognition. The next moment, a pair of lanky young arms were wrapped around her. She jumped a little, for she was not one to suffer unexpected contact without a qualm, even from such an innocuous source and Brand had never offered such before. But she relaxed quickly enough, for she was truly fond of the boy.

"_Thank you_, Lady Hethlin!"

Hethlin patted Brand's shoulders. "You're welcome, Brand. Now you'd best hurry along to breakfast. I'm not absolutely certain, but I think I might have overheard some rumor of presents!"

Brand released her with a bit of a blush, then unbuckled his own belt and placed the sheath upon it. Gathering up his bow and quiver, he beamed one last smile at her, said, "Good day, Lady Hethlin!" and trotted off to breakfast, giving a small, gleeful hop as he did so. She grinned as she watched him go, went off to begin her own very busy day.

8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8

The royal family of Dol Amroth was gathered in their private dining room this morning, and there was no question about the truthfulness of Hethlin's rumor-presents were much in evidence upon a side table.

"Happy birthday, Brand!" they cried one and all when the birthday boy made his appearance after having hastily washed his face and hands.

"Good morning, everyone!" he said, looking around the table with a grin.

"You're up early this morning, Brand," his great-uncle noted, indicating the place of honor at his right hand. Brand came and seated himself after polite bows to Princess Mariel and Lady Tirathiel. His guardian, who was seated at the foot of the table, gave him an approving nod.

"I was shooting with Lady Hethlin. I wanted to get my lessons in while I could."

"It is good to see you so dedicated to your training," said Prince Imrahil with a sidelong smile at him. "Or is it merely Lady Hethlin?" Brand bent his head over his plate, his cheeks flushing slightly. The Prince gestured to one of the maids, who brought him a long, slender, cloth-wrapped package.

"Speaking of your archery lessons and Lady Hethlin-she mentioned a little while ago that you were ready for a heavier bow, and she was kind enough to help me shop for one." The Prince handed the package to his great-nephew, who stripped the cloth sleeve off to reveal a handsome long bow. It was not ornamented as ornately as Hethlin's own Elven bow, but Brand could tell it was very fine indeed.

"Oh, thank you, sir!" he exclaimed with obvious delight, and the flood of presents began. Princess Mariel had made him a festival shirt, embroidered with swans in flight on the cuffs and collar, while her husband Elphir gave him an actual real sword sized to suit him and Prince Erchirion the sword belt and scabbard to go with it. Prince Amrothos gave him a clever little spyglass, which folded down upon itself, and Lady Tirathiel rather predictably gave him a primer upon etiquette. Little Alphros gave him a decidedly sticky kiss. Andrahar merely looked at him.

"I have a present for you as well, Brand, but it is not here. We will go see it after breakfast."

"Lady Hethlin gave me a present this morning too," Brand announced, carefully drawing the dagger to show the others. "She told me that it used to be Father's, and that it is sea-steel!"

"I don't know about it being Boromir's , but of a certainty it is sea-steel," Imrahil said, eyeing it appreciatively.

Andrahar reached a hand out, and the dagger was passed down the table to him. He turned it over in his hands, his face impassive. "I remember this blade. It was indeed your father's, Brand. I asked Hethlin how she came by it when she first came to Dol Amroth, and she said Boromir had given it to her before he left for Imladris. Did she tell you that?"

Brand nodded. "And she told me Father had said that his father had given it to him on his fourteenth birthday, so she thought that I should have it for mine."

After a final, considering look, Andrahar passed the dagger back to Brand. "I would hope that you thanked Lady Hethlin, Brand. This was truly a princely gift, and she hasn't the resources to get another such for herself." Brand assured his guardian that he had indeed thanked her very much.

"I think I will see what I can do about replacing Lady Hethlin's dagger," the Prince announced. "And as you already know, there will be a dinner tonight of all your favorite things, Brand, as we do for anyone who has a birthday in the family. So you'd best go down after breakfast and tell the cooks what you'd like to have." Brand grinned with anticipatory relish. He remembered his first birthday feast from the previous year quite fondly.

"I would spend the day with you if I could, lad," Imrahil continued, "but unfortunately it is my public audience day, and the docket is very full. Half of Dol Amroth is determined to meet with me before I go! But I will see you this evening."

"Aren't you just the fortunate one?" Andrahar commented. "Do you need me to stay today, Imrahil?"

"Oh no, Andra. Do go and spend some time with Brand. I'd like to think one of us got the chance to enjoy this beautiful weather."

Andrahar nodded before addressing himself to his breakfast. The rest of the family followed suit, chatting cheerfully as they did so. When they had done, Princess Mariel gave Brand a kiss on the cheek before taking Alphros by the hand and going off to her solar, her expanding middle causing her to waddle a bit, and his cousins the princes subjected him to a series of hearty embraces and back-slaps before departing. Which left only the Prince and his guardian, who cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Go on then, off to the kitchens with you," Andrahar said, "but come back here when you are done."

Brand went off to confer with the cooks, leaving Andrahar and Imrahil to finish nursing their tea, conversing in low tones. When he came back, his great-uncle gave him a smile.

"Did you have your way with the cooks?"

"Yes, sir."

"Will we be treated to a birthday feast of great magnificence then?"

"So they say, sir."

The Prince looked over at his oath-brother. "I've about half an hour before I must be in court, Andra. Could you spare Brand for that long?"

Andrahar nodded. "Indeed. I need to see Peloren about the final remount list, and I can do that now as well as later." He rose, and bowed and left the room, leaving a very curious Brand behind.

"I have another present for you, Brandmir," Imrahil said after his oath-brother had gone, "but it is the sort of gift that should be given privately." He pushed a small silver key on a chain across the table towards Brand. It was a very ornate little key and Brand wondered what it opened.

The Prince, seeing his look of bafflement, chuckled. "You don't know what that is, do you, Brand?"

"No sir."

"It's a Fairweather key."

The statement took a moment to sink in. Brand, who had actually been reaching to pick the key up, snatched his hand back and turned crimson.

"Valar! Sir, I don't need that!" Then his blush deepened even further as he contemplated how rejection of the gift might offend his great-uncle.

Imrahil, however, seemed unoffended, picking up his cup of tea and draining it to the dregs before cradling it in his hands.

"Do you not yet? I suppose that's quite possible. But it's also possible that since I am going to be in Dale a year or more, you might need it before I get back. I was fifteen the first time I used mine, and your father was fifteen as well when he sought out his first woman in Minas Tirith, so I've always erred a bit on the conservative side and given my sons their keys at fourteen."

"When did _they_ use them?" Brand was still very red, but he was also very curious.

"That is something you will have to ask them yourself, though I will say that 'Chiron informed me I'd gotten around to it none too soon. But I suspect he might have been bragging just a bit."

Despite his embarrassment, Brand found himself stifling a laugh. Then he sobered. "Really, sir, I don't know if I could. Because of my mother, you see."

The Prince nodded, his expression sympathetic. "I had thought that you might have some reservations due to your unique perspective. And indeed, Brand, I do not wish to imply that you _have_ to use the key, ever. There are people whose marriage beds are their first experience of such things, and that is very admirable. But I will tell you what my father told me when I reached your age, and I in turn told my own sons. And that is that, despite how things are done in the rest of Gondor, in Dol Amroth we owe our people service and respect, and that means that we _do not _predate upon our young women, either those serving in the castle or residing in the principality." Imrahil reached for the tea-pot and poured himself another cup, grimacing slightly when he sipped and found it cold.

"I am sure that you know that young men of your class are considered to have a certain latitude about indulging their carnal curiosity. 'Sowing their wild oats' is a term often used to describe it. Of course, the problem with sowing oats is that they sometimes sprout. And that sprout or not, the girl has her reputation and oft-times her life ruined. So I have allowed my sons and now you the freedom to indulge that curiosity-but only with ladies who are professionals. It limits both the damage done and the possibility of bastards."

Brand looked down at his plate. The Prince continued, his voice very gentle. "Brand, this is not to say that I am not _very_ glad you are here. I am overjoyed that Andra found you, and I love you very much! But had your mother slept with one of _my_ sons, she would have known that she could apply to me when she found she was with child, and I would have cared for her, even if she was not certain the child was actually sired by my son. You would never have had to suffer at the hands of your step-father the way you did! My house takes responsibility for our actions. You are too young to have known my Uncle Aerandir, but he was my father's older half-brother by a lady like your mother. And my grandfather saw that he was brought up properly and educated. He became an officer in the Swan Knights and married a very nice lady of good family. Aerandir helped instruct me when I was an esquire, and he was a good and noble man. Our blood is precious to us, whether it is legitimate or not. And the reason we do things this way is so that we will have a better chance of knowing where our kindred are."

A bit hesitantly, Brand asked, "Did you ever sire a bastard, sir?"

The Prince spooned a little honey into his tea and stirred it pensively. "Not that I am aware of. Which is rather extraordinary, for between the ages of fifteen and thirty, I was a very…active… young man. But that activity was for the most part confined to three very exclusive houses here, in Pelargir and in Minas Tirith. And none of those ladies ever made a claim on me, though they knew that they could. I suppose it is possible I had a child by one of them, and she simply wasn't sure enough of the parentage to make a claim. Or didn't want to tell me, for some reason. I do wonder about that sometimes." He gave his great-nephew a rueful smile. "If you hold to your intention to never use the key, Brand, you will not have to suffer any of those moments of doubt. Which is a very good argument for your point of view."

Brand absorbed this silently for a moment, aware of his great-uncle's eyes upon him. Then, curious about something he'd noticed in the Prince's explanation, he asked, "Why do you call them ladies, sir?"

"The professional women?"

"Yes, sir. The whores, as most call them. Why do you call them ladies?"

Imrahil smiled wryly. "Well for one thing, it would be the height of hypocrisy for me to vilify them, having enjoyed their company so many times when I was younger! For another, I don't disrespect women who have made that their choice of profession, for they often have few other options available to them. Many times a woman sells her body for the sake of her family-did not your own mother do just that? Andrahar tells me your mother said she went into the trade to earn the back taxes to save her family's farm."

Brand nodded. "So she told me, when I was a little older. I think she didn't want me to be ashamed of her. But she needn't have worried-I never have been." He lifted his chin.

"Well there you have it. My own late wife would have liked to have another sort of career than the one her sex dictated for her. I personally think she would have been an excellent teacher or diplomat. But because she was a woman, she had to settle for being my helpmeet rather than seeking her fortune on her own. So I tend to be sympathetic towards women and their impossible choices."

"Lady Hethlin does as she pleases."

"And Lady Hethlin pays for that privilege every day, never think that she doesn't! I'm sure you've heard some of the talk, and I'll warn you now, you'll hear even more when we go to Minas Tirith. There are those who think she slept with every Ranger in Faramir's troop, and those same people will no doubt say that now she's sleeping with all the Swan Knights. Even if _we_ know that she won't get her white belt unless she earns it, there will be some who will never believe she didn't achieve it save through less than honorable ends. Such things used to upset her. Perhaps they still do, though she seems better at hiding it these days. I told her a couple of years back that she needed to decide if she was going to live her own life to suit herself, or pay heed to what others said about her. I might say the same to my great-nephew, who is a whoreson and a bastard, though I suspect that he has already figured that out."

"You like me, sir, and your family, and Captain Andrahar. And my uncle. No one else really matters, do they?"

"Indeed they do not! Smart lad!" The Prince clapped his great-nephew on the back just as there came a knock at the door, and a muffled inquiry from without. "Ah, my keepers have caught up with me, it would seem. Keep the key, Brand, and use it or not as you choose, when you choose. Enjoy your birthday! I'll see you again this evening." He drained the rest of his cup, wiped his mouth, stood and departed.

8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8

Having stowed the key in his belt pouch, Brand found his guardian in his office, still poring over some lists with Captain Peloren, who looked up and smiled when he entered.

"Happy birthday, Brandmir," he said.

"Thank you, Captain Peloren," Brand replied, then looking to Andrahar, asked, "Should I wait outside, sir?"

"No, lad, 'tis nothing you cannot hear and we are nearly finished in any event," came a casual rejoinder. So Brand took himself to a chair in the corner and settled himself to wait silently until Andrahar was done, trying to quash all curious speculation upon the matter of presents, listening idly to the discussion of the merits of this horse versus that one. Eventually, the list was completed to both men's satisfaction and Peloren departed with a last wink at Brand.

"Well, come on then," said Andrahar to his ward, and as Brand had halfway hoped and expected, their path lay towards the stable. The Commander of the Swan Knights stopped in front of a stall that contained a handsome dark grey gelding, who promptly stuck his head over the door in a hopeful search for treats.

"Peloren told me you'd outgrown the mare," Andrahar said, "and having seen your feet dangling down about her knees, I'm inclined to agree. So he helped me pick this fellow out."

"Oh sir, he's beautiful!" Brand exclaimed in delight, stroking the gelding's face softly. "Is he war trained?"

"No. Bred for it, but he didn't finish quite heavy enough, so they cut him. And you've no need for a war-horse yet. But he knows enough that he can take you where you need to be going with your horsemanship at present-there will be plenty of time for a war-horse later. Go get your saddle and we'll see if it fits him." Brand ran off to the tack room to retrieve brushes, a bit of grain and his gear, only to find the grooms presenting him with a new saddle and bridle for his new horse. Delighted, he then returned to commence getting acquainted with his new steed.

"Thank you, sir!" he said, indicating the new equipment. His guardian leaned against the stall, watching as he laid his saddle on one of the racks provided for that purpose and started grooming the gelding.

"It had to be done. Your old saddle didn't fit the gelding. And it was well on the way to not fitting you either."

Brand frowned, for his guardian's explanation had brought a problem to mind. "Speaking of that, sir, what shall I do with my mare now?" he asked Andrahar. "She's been a good horse for me, I shouldn't like her to come to any harm. But I really am getting too big for her."

"Well, you could always sell her. But my suggestion would be that you talk to Peloren and see if he can find a suitable stud for her-there's always a demand for gentle small saddle horses for ladies and younger folk. Let a page you trust ride her every now and again so that she doesn't forget her business, but breed her and raise and sell the foals. They could bring you a tidy little bit of extra coin."

Brand looked thoughtful. "In two or three years, Alphros would be big enough to ride her."

Andrahar nodded. "You could breed her a couple of times, then give her to him. She's young enough that he'd get several years service out of her. That would be kind of you, Brand."

"And maybe Elboron could take her after him, if she's not too old."

"If she's older, then all the better for Elboron-she'll be calmer."

Suddenly, an idea occurred to Brand, and he frowned. "My sister Gabby likes horses. I could give her to Gabby. I probably should-even Mother could ride her-except that I don't know if my step-father would appreciate having a saddle horse to feed."

"If you wanted to give her to your mother's family, I am sure the Prince would help to pay for her upkeep. And you don't have to decide today in any event, lad."

"Yes, that's true," the boy said, smiling with relief. "Thank you, sir." He gave the gelding the thorough grooming Dol Amroth's stable masters expected, despite his obvious eagerness to be on his new horse. The commander gave orders that one of the saddle horses be prepared for him, and by the time Brand was ready, a stable-boy was bringing Andrahar his mount.

"Do you want to go to the ring first, or ride out?" he asked the boy, and was unsurprised when the answer came.

"Can we ride out? Down to the beach?"

"It's your day, lad. Of course we can."

So they set off down through the City, Brand greeting friends and acquaintances as they passed. Andrahar was not particularly surprised to see how many people knew Brand and smiled as he went past-he remembered the boy's father affecting folk in much the same way. He himself had little to say other than murmured acknowledgment of Brand's many observations.

They trotted for a while when they reached the beach; then, when the horses were warmed up, Brand got the gallop Andrahar knew he'd been itching for. To the boy's delight, his new horse outdistanced the Commander's mount handily. He pulled up, grinning, after they'd gone down the beach quite a way.

"He's so _fast_!"

"Peloren said something about that. But I'd best not hear you've been racing him when I come back." Andrahar started walking his horse again, and Brand followed suit.

"I shan't, sir. I promise. But I don't see why I couldn't just go with you on up to Dale." The last statement was carefully casual, Brand giving his guardian a sidelong glance.

"You are too young, Brandmir. Only the oldest esquires are going with us."

"You told me once that some Haradrim boys go into the army when they're _twelve_."

"You are not Haradrim. And in any event, those boys only do that because their families cannot feed them. Your appetite has not beggared Dol Amroth yet, though I will own you are giving it a good try."

Brand laughed despite his disappointment at the refusal. Andrahar did not as a rule unlimber his rather dry sense of humor unless it was with those whom he loved, and Brand had been at Dol Amroth now long enough to know that.

"Grandy gave me another present while you were talking with Captain Peloren," he told his guardian. "A key to that brothel you go to, can you believe it?"

"I can well believe it. You are the age his sons were when he gave them theirs. Will you use it, do you think?"

Brand blushed. "No, not right away! And I don't know if I will at all."

"If you get that sort of itch, you'd best not scratch it anywhere _but_ the Fairweather," Andrahar warned him. "The Prince would not be happy with you if you did."

Brand nodded. "He explained that to me. It's just that I don't think I'm ready for it yet. He says Prince Erchirion told him he'd taken overlong to give him his key, but I don't feel like I am ready for…girls yet."

"'Chiron was a braggart when he was younger, though he has certainly always enjoyed the ladies. But you needn't feel any hurry to prove yourself in that way. Best to wait until you truly feel you are ready. There is no harm in waiting, Brand."

"How old were you when you had your first woman?" It was not a question he would have ever asked Andrahar before, but this birthday, and Imrahil's gift, seemed to have granted him a sort of semi-adult status he hadn't previously possessed.

"I was twenty-two." Was that a touch of frost he heard in Andrahar's voice? Perhaps he'd overstepped himself after all. But a moment later the Armsmaster added, in a more normal tone, "You'd best talk to Imrahil or 'Chiron if you want advice about women, lad. My experience of them is somewhat…limited."

Astounded, he reined in his horse. "But…you go to the Fairweather every week!" Andrahar drew rein as well.

"Not for _that_! For massages. I'm getting along in years and that Khandian fellow they have there really works the knots out. He makes it possible for me to keep doing my job." Seeing Brandmir's consternated look, Andrahar smiled dryly. "Difficult though it may be for you to believe right now, Brand, carnal appetites aren't always the driving force in a man's life. Particularly when one gets older."

"Oh." Brand couldn't think of anything he could say in response to that that wouldn't be insulting, so he urged his new horse forward once more, Andrahar at his side. Having successfully acquired one new bit of information about his close-mouthed guardian's past, he decided to try his luck once more.

"There is something I have wondered, sir, ever since I came to Dol Amroth. Why did you never marry? You are a handsome man, and you have the Prince's favor and a good position. His other captains are almost all married. Why didn't you? Is it because you're Haradrim? Couldn't you find a lady who fancied you?"

The Armsmaster did not answer for a long moment, staring rather fixedly between his horse's ears. Brand had just decided that he'd indeed gone too far and had in fact opened his mouth to apologize, when Andrahar answered.

"No, it is not because I am Haradrim. And there have been women who fancied me. But I did not fancy them. The plain truth, Brandmir, is that I am a lover of men."

The gelding was halted once more, rather abruptly this time. "Don't yank his mouth like that," the captain said, "or I'll take him back." Brand was not sure what expression he had on his face, other than that it probably looked frozen, but Andrahar, seeing it, frowned. "You undoubtedly have questions, so let's have them, lad."

Brand shook himself. "How long have…" He could not think of a polite way to finish the sentence.

"Have I been a lover of men? All my life."

"Why?"

"I do not know. I was a catamite in my youth and that might have spoiled me for women. Or there might be some other reason I don't know about. I suppose it's conceivable I was just made that way. That's what Imri thinks. He says there are such folk as myself among the Elves."

"You were a _catamite_? How old were you when you…"

"Twelve." Andrahar smiled mirthlessly at the boy's appalled look. "I was a slave at the time, Brandmir, I didn't have a choice in the matter."

Brand, who had learned something of Andrahar's antecedents from his great-uncle, though not this particular fact, nodded. Then, puzzled, he said, "But you said you were twenty-two when you …oh, was that the first time you'd gone to a _woman_?"

"That is correct."

"So, did you sleep with women after that?"

"No. I tried two times in my twenty-second year and found that I am incapable with women. I was hoping that I was not. I am not ashamed of what I am, but it is not an easy life, being a man-lover. Particularly in Gondor."

"Do many people know about this?"

"Imrahil does, of course, and his family. The senior officers in the Swan Knights. The King and Faramir. Probably others as well. There is no law against it now, so I suppose it doesn't signify who knows, though I prefer to keep my personal life to myself."

"Have you had many lovers?" Brand knew the moment he said it he'd gone too far, for Andrahar's mouth thinned ominously.

"That is a question I will _not_ answer, for you do not need to know! Suffice it to say that I do not sleep with boys and I do not sleep with anyone in the Swan Knights. The first because that is a crime, the second because Imrahil insisted upon it and also because it is folly to disrupt your chain of command in that way. And that is all that need concern you."

Brand considered this for a moment, then the blush rose in his cheeks again. Andrahar, seeing this, raised an eyebrow. His voice when he spoke was civil enough despite his irritation of the moment before.

"What else would you know, Brandmir?"

"How do…I mean what exactly do men do with each other? I…sort of have an idea, but…"

The Armsmaster snorted. "I'll not go into that myself with you, you'd have me blushing of embarrassment too!" Brand stared at him, astounded at the very idea. "Go seek out a book in your great-uncle's library. _The Garden of Love_ is the title. It is quite an education upon all manner of love-making. With pictures. It will explain the matter far better than I could. And with every possible variation, which is much more than I've ever gotten up to."

"But you _like_ doing it? With men? I mean, is it…enjoyable?" Brand went pinker yet.

"Oh yes. Just as congress with women is supposed to be."

"Do you…have anyone right now?"

"No, and I do not anticipate taking a lover ever again. As I told you, I am getting too old for it. So you needn't worry about walking in on anything embarrassing. Do you have any more questions at this time?"

"No, sir."

"Well, if you do, you may come to me with them later. Though this is something I will not discuss in public, Brand, for obvious reasons."

"Yes, sir."

"Have I upset you, lad?"

"No!" the boy said hastily, then added more thoughtfully, "Yes, sir. A little. I had not expected it. Though it does make sense, now that I think on it."

"Does it now?" Andrahar's voice was dry. "Hindsight _is_ generally clearest." He looked back over his shoulder towards the city. "We've come a long way, we'd best be thinking about going back. What were you wanting to do with the rest of your day?"

Brand looked at his guardian, who was suddenly not the same man he'd been a few minutes ago. Or was he? Brand decided to think more upon the matter later. For the present, it was a beautiful day and…

"I'd like to go fishing, if you don't mind," he said. Fishing was something Brand enjoyed very much; but to Andrahar, fish were too simple-minded to make worthy foes. And he was of too energetic a temperament to enjoy the long, contemplative sitting that the search for supper was the virtuous excuse for.

"It is your birthday, to spend as you wish," the Armsmaster said; then, with more hesitation than he'd shown since Brand's early days at Dol Amroth added, "I would be glad to join you, but if you have other company in mind…"

"I would be glad of your company, sir, should you care to give it," the boy said, a little stiffly. Andrahar, seeing his reaction, smiled faintly.

"You have plenty of young friends who enjoy fishing more than I do. And I've given you much to think upon. I think I'll go back and help Imrahil with his audiences. Do you think you'll actually catch something in time for the cooks to prepare it for this evening?"

Brand seized upon this change of subject most eagerly, and as they turned about and started back towards the city, gave Andrahar much more information than he wanted to know about fishing holes and currents, bait and the best time of day to catch certain fish. The Armsmaster suffered this flood of information about a topic he did not care for gladly, since it was preferable to uncomfortable silence. The unsettled glances Brand was giving him did not escape his notice and his own mood was grim, though he did his best to disguise that. He loved Boromir's son as his own child, and had feared this inevitable moment of revelation almost since the day he'd taken Brand from Pelargir. It was something of a relief to have it in the open at last, but along with that relief went a chilling fear.

_Have I lost you then, lad?_


	3. You were my greatest joy

Brand returned to the house after putting his new horse away, to get his fishing pole and collect his thoughts a bit. His parting from Andrahar at the stables had seemed cordial enough on the surface. But Brand knew that his reaction to the captain's revelation had hurt the man, and he found himself torn between his affection for his guardian and a rather dismaying and guilty revulsion. His revulsion at the idea of Andrahar being a man-lover was quite genuine and the guilt that he should feel such revulsion towards a man who had given him so much was equally strong.

That those gifts might have some other, seductive purpose was an idea he had never wanted to have to entertain. And indeed, he did not give it too much credence. Andrahar had always been honest with him, as this very morning had proved. The captain's own words aside_-"Suffice it to say that I do not sleep with boys and I do not sleep with anyone in the Swan Knights. The first because that is a crime…"_-Brand could not imagine his great-uncle Imrahil knowingly pandering for his oath-brother.

But there were also some unanswered questions which had begun to bother Brand over the last year, and the morning's new information made them all the more pressing. Andrahar's reluctance to reveal Brand's parentage to anyone upon his arrival at Dol Amroth had been explained away by the Prince as Andrahar's desire to keep Brand to himself for a bit before surrendering him to his rightful family. Imrahil had found this perfectly understandable for some reason, though it seemed a bit strange to Brand. He could better understand that reluctance as worry that the claim would be refuted.

And when his Uncle Faramir had arrived to confirm that claim, the entirety of Imrahil's family had united to convince the Steward that Brand would be better off remaining in Dol Amroth, though surely an uncle's claim of kinship took precedence over a great-granduncle's. And it certainly took precedence over the wishes of his father's old friend! Yet everyone had done their best to convince Faramir to leave Brand in Andrahar's keeping, and while that had indeed coincided with Brand's own wishes at the time, looking back now it seemed rather odd.

Admittedly Faramir had been living as a bachelor, with a wedding in the near future, and he probably had appreciated the prospect of having some time alone with his new wife. Becoming guardian to a young boy, on top of all the other adjustments he was having to make in regards to a position he had never thought to inherit, might have indeed been too much of a strain. But all the tales that Brand had ever been told of the Captain-General and his brother had spoken of how close they had been. Having acknowledged Brand's paternity, why had Faramir surrendered him so easily?

Brand had visited Faramir a couple of times in the last couple of years, once for his wedding, and knew that his uncle liked him well enough. Lady É owyn had always been most kind and cordial to him as well. She had spoken to him of how she herself had grown up in her uncle's household, and had made it clear that he was welcome in hers, for the Rohirrim took such family responsibilities very seriously. While he was certainly happy at Dol Amroth, there was no obvious impediment to his living with his uncle.

Brand was beginning to think that there was something else behind all of this, some secret that was not being shared with him. But he could hardly voice such a belief to his uncle or Prince Imrahil, it was too fantastic. And he might be reading too much into the situation: Andrahar had been the one who had discovered him after all, which surely gave the captain a claim of some sort. And the adults in his life might have worried about how Brand would react to being uprooted once more, so soon after leaving his mother.

Also, he remembered how the Swan Knights' physician Cuilast had spoken to him of how grieved and lonely their commander was. "_That is why I was so glad to see him take you under his wing, as it were. I think you might be just the thing to cheer him up."_

Brand's continued presence at Dol Amroth rather than Minas Tirith might very well simply have been a conspiracy done for Andrahar's benefit.

"Captain, is that you?" came Mistress Alfirin's voice from the kitchen, where Brand could hear her puttering about.

"No, Mistress, it's me," he answered, and she stuck her head out of the door.

"Oh, Brand! Happy birthday, lad! Would you like some lunch?"

"No thank you, it's a little too early yet. I'm not hungry. I was going to go out fishing for a while."

"Then would you like me to pack something to take with you?"

Brand allowed that that would be most welcome and appreciated, and Andrahar's cook-housekeeper set to work. He looked about the main room of the small house in bemusement. It was in a rare state of disorder, for Andrahar was in the process of packing for the journey and what might very well be a prolonged campaign far from his usual suppliers. Armor, weapons and the equipment to maintain them were spread all about the room and on the table. A couple of trunks stood open and one of them was half full of livery and garments.

"It's a right mess in there, isn't it?" came Mistress Alfirin's voice from the kitchen. "I asked if the captain wanted me to help him, but he said that it wasn't necessary, beyond having my sister ready the laundry. I promise I'll straighten it right up when he's done packing."

"Thank you, mistress," Brand replied. "but I am going to be living up at the palace while he's gone. Did you know that?"

"Oh yes, the captain told me all about it. But he said he wants me to come in once a week and give things a going-over so they'll be tidy against his return. That's what I usually do when he's away."

Brand knew that custom was as much for Mistress Alfirin's benefit as the house's. She was the widow of one of the Prince's sergeants and the money she earned as Andrahar's housekeeper helped to augment her widow's stipend very nicely. He moved around the room, idly examining the captain's belongings while he waited for his lunch. A thick, padded cloth covered the table to protect it and the plate pieces of Andrahar's harness lay there, though the mail itself was on the armor rack. Some straps with buckles already sewn to them were there as well, an indication that the captain probably intended to replace some while he had the chance. Metalwork was something Andrahar had no gift for, but any Swan Knight could hammer a rivet or stitch a strap and do the basic repair work necessary to keep his own harness in good order.

Brand frowned thoughtfully as he ran a finger over one of the tiny tigers that graced the corners of Andrahar's vambraces. The miniscule felines were on the greaves as well. Commissioned by the Prince as a gift long ago when Andrahar was first made Commander, the armor was regulation but also unique. He was not alone in such deviations-Captain Peloren's armor had little running horses all around the edges. Brand wondered if Lady Hethlin would be allowed eagles upon her armor when she won her white belt. Probably not, he decided after pondering the matter for a few moments-such customization was probably a privilege exclusive to officers.

The scents of steel and leather, of saddle soap and oil wafted about him. He looked around at the very obviously masculine display in the room, baffled. As he had told Andrahar earlier, he knew little about lovers of men. But he did know that to say a man was such was an insult of the first order, either here or in Pelargir. It implied that one was womanish, without any of the virtues attached to that gender. And the few men at court whom, it was rumored, were of that persuasion were not very like Andrahar at all. They were all of them minstrels and one in particular had a simpering, girlish air about him that irritated Brand enormously. Somehow Brand could not see Andrahar keeping company with such a man.

No, the man who was one of the two best swords in Gondor, the one the Haradrim called the Tiger of Dol Amroth because of his savage competence on the battlefield, hardly fit the standard image of a mincing, tittering man-lover. Which led to the inevitable conclusion that lovers of men, like lovers of women, might very well be of various sorts, and not always obvious in their preferences. Brand was struggling a bit with that idea. If that were indeed the case, then there might be more of them about than anyone realized!

And as for exactly _what _Andrahar did with whatever sort of man he fancied, the captain's own advice on the matter seemed perfectly sound to his charge. "_Go seek out a book in your great-uncle's library. **The Garden of Love **is the title. It is quite an education upon all manner of love-making. With pictures. It will explain the matter far better than I could." _Brand was thinking that he could not truly decide how he felt about the captain's confession until he had more information. But the library could wait until the morrow-today was too beautiful a day for reading and he still too taken aback at the morning's events to want to hide in the library. Such was his uncle Faramir's preferred refuge. When Brand wanted to think, he usually went for a ride or a walk beside the shore.

"I'll be done with this in a trice, Master Brand," came the housekeeper's voice from the kitchen.

"There is no hurry, Mistress," Brand responded politely. Idly, his hand moved from the armor to a pile of gambesons that lay beside it. A small housewife of sewing supplies was open beside the pile, and a threaded needle was stuck into the sleeve of the topmost quilted garment, awaiting Andrahar's return. Fingers brushing the breast of the arming coat, he felt a stiffness on what would have been the left side of the wearer's chest. Curious, he pressed more purposefully and confirmed that there was indeed some sort of reinforcement there. He had not thought that gambesons contained such things, and always eager to learn more about armament, opened the garment to look inside. There he found a pocket holding what looked like a piece of leather.

_How odd, _he mused. '_Tis not metal…Any blow strong enough to pierce chain mail would not be stopped by this! Is it meant to protect from a heart-shot?_ His puzzlement increased when he pulled the leather from out of its sleeve and discovered that it wasn't one thick piece of hide, but rather a slender wallet. Opening the wallet, Brand discovered that it contained a piece of folded parchment that looked like a letter.

There he paused for a moment, well aware that he was trespassing. But he also thought that he might know what this was. Andrahar had spoken to him now and again about some of the customs among his rather polyglot people. There were sects among the Haradrim who used spoken prayers as greetings and others who actually wore them written down, in little cases on the breast or wrist or within the folds of a turban. This was probably something of the sort, most likely a prayer for protection from wounds or the like. And Brand was curious to know if the Haradric he'd been suffering such pains over for the last two years was up to this challenge.

_Surely there's no harm in a quick look?_ he told himself. With a quick glance towards the kitchen to make sure Mistress Alfirin could not see, he unfolded the parchment.

And found no prayer, indeed no Haradric at all. Merely a letter in Westron, in a bold, masculine hand, that brought the foundations of his world crashing down around him.

_Beloved-_

_If you are reading this, then you know that things did not go well for me upon my journey to the north. And while I regret having caused you sorrow, I will admit to you that I am selfish enough to be glad that I went first. The days since our parting have worn hard upon me-to have to grieve for you in this way for the rest of my life is indeed a dismaying prospect. To be dead and done with things certainly simplifies matters in that regard. It also leaves the harder part to you-but then, you were always the stronger of the two of us._

_You were right to chastise me for refusing to wed-certainly it might have made the discovery of our love more difficult, or perhaps less important, had I made an heir or two. It is even possible that under those circumstances, Father might have left us in peace. But it seemed dishonest and unfair to whatever poor woman I might have settled upon, and unfair to you as well. For I could not have wed without trying to give the lady some crumb of affection, and that would have felt wrong when you were being faithful to me alone. If nothing else my death has spared us, and that other, unknown third, the travesty that a marriage to me would have been._

_My constancy, despite your disapproval of it, was the only gift I could ever give you, and it comforted me that you could at least have that when I could not declare my love more openly. Perhaps it was a foolish conceit, but I hope that you will understand and forgive my actions, which probably did hasten my father's discovery of our love._

_Andra, I know that I do not have to tell you to look after Uncle, but I will ask it of you anyway, and hope that he will be able to comfort you as well. And I would have you do what you can to protect Faramir, if you will-with my passing, Father's eye and ire will undoubtedly fall upon him more often. Perhaps you and Uncle together can find a way to shield him from some of that._

_Though I know that you believe we will not ever meet again, I refuse to believe that the One would be so cruel as to part us forever. So, wherever I am, know that I wait in hope that someday you will join me once more and that we may love openly at last._

_You were the greatest joy of my life, Andra. May the Valar grant you peace._

_Boromir_

Blood pounding in his ears, Brand read the words, once, twice, then thrice before, hands shaking, he carefully re-folded the letter, replaced it in the wallet, put it back in its canvas sleeve and closed the gambeson. _This_ was the secret that ran like a riptide, silent and deep, beneath his stay at Dol Amroth!

_My father was NOT the Captain's "dearest friend" at all! He was his LOVER!_

"Master Brandmir? I have your lunch ready," came Mistress Alfirin's voice, as if from a great distance. Brand looked up to find her actually on the other side of the table, a sack in her hand, looking concerned. He had not heard her approach.

"Are you certain you should be gadding about on the beach? You look a bit peaked, lad, and that's the truth! Did you get too much sun this morning? T'would be a shame to be sickening on your birthday, with your big dinner tonight and all! Why don't you have a quiet bit of a nap instead? You'll feel the better for it, I'm sure-you're very pale."

Brand shook his head and accepted the sack with a hand that was still trembling the tiniest bit. The housekeeper saw this and frowned. He hastened to reassure her.

"No, mistress, truly-I am well enough. But thank you for your concern."

Mistress Alfirin narrowed her eyes. "I wonder about that. I've half a mind to fetch the Captain."

"The Captain is in the audience chamber with the Prince. I don't think he would thank you for the interruption." Not to mention that Andrahar was the last person Brand wanted to see at this moment…

"He would not mind in the least if it kept you from going out when you were unwell, and you know it, lad. Now I'll have your word-are you honestly feeling all right?"

"Yes, mistress."

"And where was it you were going fishing?"

"About halfway towards the point, I think."

"That's an awful long way to walk if you're sickening, Master Brandmir." The housekeeper gave him another searching look, then relented. "Very well then, but if you start feeling poorly, you come back here. I've got some good herbal teas my grandmother used to swear by and they'll set you right in no time. And if that doesn't work, we'll send for that healer, snipey fellow that he is." Mistress Alfirin came from a long line of midwives and she did a little in that line herself-her dislike of Master Cuilast was a matter of professional rivalry. Brand found himself smiling a little, despite his earlier shock, and that was actually the smartest thing he could have done. Reassured, Mistress Alfirin's concern turned to brisk dismissal.

"Well _if_ you're all right, you'd best be gone if you want to have any time at all to fish! And if you catch anything, see that you take it up to the castle-I'm to my daughter's house tonight and I shan't be here to cook it."

"Yes, mistress," Brand said, and fled while he had the chance.

8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8

He went out the back door to the garden shed, where he kept his fishing pole and other equipment, but once he was there, he found that the desire to fish had left him. His discovery had left him with little desire for company, and he would have to go down to the fish market to get some bait-fish before he could go fishing. He had a new-found desire for solitude that made him disinclined to do such dickering.

A long walk along the beach and a picnic on the dunes was much more in keeping with his current mood, and it would give him plenty of opportunity to mull matters over. He needed to do some hard thinking before evening came and he had to confront Andrahar again.

So he set off down through the town towards the ocean, his mind only half on where he was going, thoughts tumbling over themselves like the waves on the shore.

Two portraits and two halves of a cloven horn. A suit of armor which would be Brand's one day, but which he would probably never wear, even if he grew to fit it, for it bore the arms of the Captain-General of Gondor. Letters to his uncle and to the Prince, which had been shared with him in their entirety by their recipients, and which were hardly enough, given that they were the closest thing to his father's voice that he would ever have. As of this morning, a dagger. And as of this afternoon, a secret. Though precious little of his father remained to him, Brand felt that he could have done without the last.

Boromir the Fair, Boromir the Brave, Boromir the lost and lamented Warden of the White Tower, the big, powerful man with the flashing white smile in the portrait in the Steward's house, had been a man-lover! For part of the time at least-Brand's existence proved that, unlike his Haradrim lover, Boromir had been capable of sleeping with women as well.

So much was now made clear! Andrahar's claim upon Brand, the claim that the Prince had upheld, had not been a case of prior possession, or even of friendship, but rather because of his intimate relationship with Brand's late father.

"_Boromir's kin or not, you are the closest thing to a son I am ever like to have, Brandmir," _Andrahar had told him the night before Brand had met Faramir, and he had also told him that he had made him his heir. While a kinless man of means might understandably make the son of his dearest friend his heir, it made even more sense that a man who could never wed a wife would endow the son of the man who had been his lover.

But Brand also had so many questions! _Who started it? How? Why? How long had it gone on?_ Of only one thing was he certain-the letter he had read was not the sort of thing exchanged between two people who were merely lovers for the sport of it. There were pain and grief and love-aplenty in that letter. It poured off the page, and it hinted at a whole world of possibility beyond the prurient jokes about man-lovers. It suggested that two men could love each other as equals, not as a man and a woman-substitute, and that the strength of that love could equal anything the world thought of as a more acceptable relationship.

There were also hints of trouble: "…_to have to grieve for you in this way for the rest of my life is indeed a dismaying prospect…had I made an heir or two…It is even possible that Father might have left us in peace…I hope that you will understand and forgive my actions, which probably did hasten my father's discovery of our love…" _

There had been a dearth of information given Brand about his grandfather, the Steward Denethor. Faramir did not speak of him, nor did the Prince, nor Andrahar. From things he had heard in passing from other people, Denethor had died during the siege of Minas Tirith, and the rumor was that death had been a suicide. Brand could certainly understand why Faramir was too uncomfortable to talk about his father if that were the case, but he was curious about his grandfather. And that curiosity was only strengthened by the contents of his father's letter.

It looked as though the Steward had done something to Boromir and Andrahar, forbidden them to continue seeing each other, perhaps even punished them in some manner. A phrase from his discussion with Andrahar that morning struck him suddenly as significant- "_There is no law against it now…". _Had there been such a law when Andrahar had been seeing his father? Had what they been doing actually been illegal as well as socially unacceptable? If that were the case, then why had the Prince, who was the ultimate arbiter of law within his realm, and as a consequence very much a stickler for adherence to the rules, not punished Andrahar? Why had Imrahil instead aided Andrahar in acquiring custody of him? The Prince's actions implied acceptance, possibly even approval.

An interview with his great uncle was added to the list of things he needed to do before Brand felt he could come to any conclusion about this matter. And definitely his cousins and his Uncle Faramir as well, since Andrahar had said that they had known about his preferences at the very least, if not his relationship with Boromir. He wondered if the King could shed any light upon the matter, since he had been Boromir's comrade in arms, then wondered further if he would ever be able to find the courage to ask the man about it. And what about Cuilast? The healer was a very insightful man, and he had obviously been very worried about Andrahar when Brand had first met him. Was that because he had some knowledge of what had actually gone on, or had he really taken Andrahar's grief to be that for an old and dear friend? Was he one of the "senior officers" Andrahar had mentioned?

"Brandmir, what are you doing here, away from your lessons?"

Brand, startled, jerked himself out of his musing to find that his feet, left to their own devices, had by habit taken him down to the dock and warehouse district, rather than upon the shortcut towards the shore. He'd been spending a lot of time with his friend Gellam down in the warehouses of late, and was near to his father's establishment. In fact, it was Geliran, Gellam's father, who had addressed him. A disapproving frown was on his face and Brand hastened to explain.

"I was excused them today, sir-it's my birthday."

Geliran's expression lightened immediately. "Is it then? How old are you now, fourteen?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well! A happy birthday to you, then, and may you have many more!"

"Thank you, sir."

"I know you would probably like to spend some time with Gellam, but I simply can't release him early from his tutor, Brand," the merchant said regretfully. "His sums work is still atrocious, and what sort of merchant will he be without them?"

"I understand, sir. Would you tell him I asked about him, please?"

"Of course. Where are you going today?"

Brand shrugged. "I'm not really sure, but somewhere between here and the point. He's welcome to join me when he's finished his lessons." By then, Brand figured, he would be tired of worrying over the matter of Andrahar and his father and ready for company.

Geliran nodded. "I'll pass your message along. Where's your fishing pole?" He was well aware of the mutual love of fishing that had initially drawn the two boys together.

"I decided I just wanted to walk and think for a bit."

"Ah yes, the deep thoughts of fourteen! So much more profound than those of thirteen," the merchant declared with a smile. Brand suspected that he was being gently made mock of.

"Thank you for telling Gellam, sir. I appreciate it," he said with all the dignity he could muster.

Geliran relented. "You're welcome, Brand. By the by-there's a young boy been missing since yesterday-one of the fisher-folk lads. The thought is that he might have fallen off one of the wharves and drowned. The current runs down by the point, so if you should come upon a lot of gulls, or something that looks like a body, don't go too close. Just come back and tell the City Guard."

Brand nodded. "I will, sir. You don't think it likely that he would end up so far away if he did drown, do you? I would think he would stay in the bay."

Geliran shrugged. "The sea's a tricky thing, Brand. Sometimes things stay in the same place for years, sometimes they travel long distances quite swiftly. I don't think it all that likely myself, but I thought I should warn you, lest you have a nasty surprise."

Brand, who had seen the results of a bad shipwreck about six months after his arrival at Dol Amroth, could only appreciate that consideration. The image of the pallid, bloating, bluish bodies had remained with him for months afterwards.

"Thank you, sir. I'll keep my eyes open."

"And I'll tell Gellam where to find you when he's finished his lessons. Enjoy your birthday, lad!"

"Thank you sir," Brand said again, and resumed his progress through the warehouse district. It would take somewhat longer to reach the beach this way, but he really didn't mind. The bustle of commerce amongst the docks and warehouses, very much like his old home in Pelargir, had always intrigued him and it served now to distract him from his current dilemma as well as it ever had. Dodging nimbly past heavily burdened porters and lumbering wagons piled high with goods, he made his way down towards the docks. The tops of the tall masts of the sailing vessels could be seen over the warehouse roofs, and the smells of tar, timber, fish and the sea were heavy in the air.

The sailors of Gondor's navy and of Dol Amroth's who passed were in their standard uniforms of sable or blue and not particularly interesting to look at, but the crews of the merchant ships of the different countries that docked here were infinite in their variety of dress and ornamentation. All manner of clothing, from all-enveloping robes to clouts that were the minimal nod to decency could be seen, as well as hair and headdresses of every possible sort. Gold earrings and even nose rings were everywhere, and Brand saw one huge man pass whose bare torso was covered with tattoos of swirling dragons in astonishing rainbow colors.

Traffic intensified around the docks themselves. The screech of gulls, the calls of vendors, the pounding of hammers and the shouted orders all created a cacophony unlike any other Brand knew. He walked along, diverted for a time from his troubles by the sights, glad that he'd strayed this way by chance. His eye was caught by a cunning little creature, a _mon-keigh_ he'd heard they were called. Dressed in a vest and a cap, with bright beady eyes and tiny hands like any man's, the animal was leaping and cavorting for a delighted audience of the children of the sailors and fisher folk and chandlers.

The _mon-keigh's_ master was Haradric from the hue of his complexion and his dark eyes. The man looked to be little more than a poor sailor, though he wore a flamboyant scarlet sash that matched his pet's garments. But he was a canny showman, who kept up a running patter to complement the _mon-keigh's_ antics. The creature danced and leapt from one child's shoulder to another. At one point it even rooted through a tow-headed boy's hair and produced a penny, which it gave to the child to keep. This astonished Brand, who'd never met a busker who was in the habit of giving money away.

The street performer was bringing his show to a close as Brand approached, having the _mon-keigh_ pass his small cap around. Needless to say, the pickings were poor. "But I must go and perform upon another street," he explained, over the protests of his audience, "where I might find coin. You children are a delightful audience, but delight of itself does not fill the empty belly." He slipped a light lead onto his pet and started down a narrow alleyway between two warehouses, allowing it to scamper along beside him. Several of the children followed him, and Brand, after a moment's thought, followed them in as well. He was a child of a big city himself and something about this was setting his instincts on alert. He loosened his father's knife in his belt.

The alleyway was narrow, though with the sun almost directly overhead, not as shadowed as it might normally be. Nonetheless, it was not a welcoming passage. The busker moved down it without hesitation, moving ever more deeply into the warren of warehouses. The children, torn between a desire for more entertainment and the scary surroundings in which they found themselves, began to drop back and leave the chase, one by one. Eventually only two were left-the tow-headed boy who'd been given the penny and a smaller, light-haired girl who looked to be his sister. The boy seemed intent upon obtaining another coin, but she was protesting, dragging on his sleeve and sniffling. Brand decided that it was time to intervene.

"Come, lad, why don't I show you and your sister out of here," he said reassuringly to the boy, moving up from behind to take him by the shoulder. The busker moved on ahead and turned a corner out of sight.

Seeing this, the boy cursed in a manner far better suited to an adult (and that would have undoubtedly gotten his mouth washed out with something unpleasant had an adult been present) and jerked away, turning to glare at Brand. "You, keep your hands off! I want to see the little man again, and get another penny!"

"This is no place for your sister," Brand said, sighing inwardly and deliberately taking a step back. He couldn't fault the lad for his suspicion of strangers, and his self-absorbed greed was certainly typical of a boy of that age, but it did make things difficult. "If you want to see the _mon-keigh_ again, t'would be better to go through the streets in search of him."

The boy looked around at his intimidating surroundings for what appeared to be the first time, then back at Brand, who was keeping his distance with his hands open. His sister whimpered.

"Celeg, I want to go _home_!"

He capitulated with ill grace. "Oh, all right, Eiliriel, we'll get out of here, but I'm still looking for the little man!"

Brand sighed in relief, for there was a prickling between his shoulders that would not cease. He gestured that they should go on ahead of him and turned to go back out. It was then that the prickling turned into outright alarm, but too late. There was a sound of movement from up above. He looked up to see a dark shape plummeting down upon them and even as he opened his mouth to cry a warning he was hit with a smothering weight of smelly hemp that drove him to the ground. Struggling to free himself from the entangling folds of what appeared to be a fishing-net, Brand saw figures running from around the corner of the warehouse.

"GUARD!" he managed to cry just once, and then they were upon him, Haradric sailors they looked to be, pinioning his limbs through the meshes with brutal efficiency, and reaching through the net to cover his mouth. He managed to get his knife drawn and shoved his arm through the net in an effort to stab his attackers, only to have his wrist seized before he could do any damage and his forearm jabbed with what looked to be a dart of some kind. Brand couldn't understand why his captors would do such an odd thing, until-

_The wave was black, and so tall that it blocked out the sun as it rose, towering higher and higher over the green land. Brand could hear the screams of children, swiftly muffled. He struggled to rise so that he could run, even knowing that he could never outrun such a doom, but could not gain his feet. Black as starless night, with the weight of the whole world it fell upon him._


	4. It's a good story so far

The first thing Brand became aware of was a rocking sensation and the sound of creaking. Then the voices happened. Meaningless murmurs at first, till he realized that they were speaking Haradric and frowning, began to bring his muddled mind to bear upon the problem of translation.

"-too old, do you think?" one voice was saying. "I wasn't sure what to do-the little ones were well in the trap, but he wasn't going to leave them, and if I'd waited any longer, I was afraid we'd lose them."

"No, you did well, Nezam," came another voice. "The only other way would have been to kill him and leave the body, and that would have been a shame with a face like that."

"So I thought, Captain, but he's very tall."

"It _is_ hard to tell, sometimes, with these Northern boys, exactly how old they are. Let's have him up here."

Brand felt hands upon him, lifting him, and setting him upon a hard surface. He realized that he was gagged when he gasped in protest at the movement and that his hands were bound before him when someone grasped those hands and pulled them above his head. Someone else wrapped arms around his legs and then a third person removed his gag and pried his mouth open, checking his teeth. When that was done the same hands moved to the buttons of his breeches.

That brought his eyes open in a hurry and instinctively, he bucked against his captors' grasp. There was a chuckle, and the voice he'd identified as the captain's said, "I thought that he might be waking up." A dark face loomed over his, a face that had probably been rather saturnine and angular in youth, but was now starting to pad over with a layer of flesh in middle age.

"Lay quiet, boy, and you won't be hurt," he told Brand in Westron, before finishing with the buttons and dragging Brand's breeches down off his hips. Pinioned as he was, Brand struggled as best he could but ultimately could nothing to stop the captain as he examined Brand's private areas as dispassionately as he would have checked a horse he was thinking of buying. Horrified, Brand could only gasp in relief when the man pulled the pants back up and refastened them when he was done.

"Yes, he's well on the way to manhood," the captain said in Haradric once more; then, stroking an appreciative hand over Brand's belly, added, "but he's lovely nonetheless, and he has exquisite skin. He might very well bring more than the other three together. You did well indeed, Nezam."

"Will he bring more if he's cut?" Nezam asked. "We could do it now, and he'd be halfway healed by the time we reached Umbar." The captain, after pulling Brand's shirt back down over his stomach, caressed his cheek and throat speculatively. Despite himself, Brand shuddered beneath his touch.

"Possibly. I would cut him were I to keep him as mine. It would stop his upwards growth and soften him nicely, probably give another couple of years of use for pleasure. But while Goudarz knows enough of surgery to mend you louts, I don't trust him with a treasure like this. And slaves tend to sicken at sea, given the least excuse to do so. Best not to risk it. I know of good surgeons in Umbar, and the agent does as well. He can advise us if the risk is worth the increase in profit."

Brand struggled to collect himself, to seem merely frightened and not comprehending, so as to not give his captors any idea that he might understand their language, that he was horrified by their blasé discussion of the merits of gelding him. Something that Andrahar had once told him was repeating itself insistently over and over in his still muzzy head. _Any knowledge of your enemy that you can gain is to your advantage. But the knowledge he does not **know** that you have is of the greatest use of all._

"Take him below, and unbind him and the other boy and feed and water them," the captain commanded. "And if the little ones are waking, feed them as well. We're far enough out to sea now-they can howl all they like."

"Aye, Captain," Nezam said, and he and the other man, who had not spoken the entire time, each lifted Brand up and set him upon his feet. He staggered, still dizzy, and they both took an elbow to usher him from the captain's cabin. They came out onto the deck, and the sight of the rising and falling waves undid Brand's stomach, still queasy from the drug. He started to retch and cursing, the sailors dragged him to the rail and forced his head over the side until it stopped. There was little enough in his stomach, since he'd never gotten the chance to enjoy Mistress Alfirin's lunch, and the spasms were soon over, though he felt shaky and he could feel a clammy sweat breaking out upon his face.

Some sailing with his cousin Erchirion had taught him that he had reasonably good sea legs, and that, given a couple of hours, his stomach would adjust. So he forced himself to fight past his nausea, to look about and obtain what information he might about his situation. The sun was dipping towards the horizon, so he'd been unconscious for some hours. The ship was of middling size, a standard Haradric merchant ship, and she seemed trim enough. The coast could be dimly seen off her port side, so they were headed due south, and she was far enough out to sea that Brand suspected she'd left port as soon as he and the other children had arrived on board.

_I will be missed any time now, but will they be able to figure out what happened to me, or will they spend days looking for me in the town? _he thought despairingly. _And even if they do figure it out, could even **Foam-flyer **catch this ship with the head-start she has?_

"Come on, enough fresh air for you," growled Nezam in halting Westron, and he and his silent companion dragged Brand towards the hold. He tried to dig in his heels and make things difficult, only to be hoisted up by shoulders and hips and carried unceremoniously down through the hatch like so much cargo. They went down past the crew's quarters, where hammocks hung like spider-wrapped bundles with the sailors not on shift, through another hatch to the bowels of the ship.

Just out of port, the hold was nearly full of bales and barrels and crates of unidentifiable cargo, all of it probably much more legal than the three children who waited in a barred iron cage against the wall closest to the hatch. Two of them Brand recognized, the boy and girl who had been captured with him, still asleep in a jumbled heap of blankets in the corner of the cage. The other was a dark-haired boy of about ten years, who was awake, his hands tied behind his back, his eyes bright and alert above his gag, watching Brand's entrance.

"No trouble now, and things will go much easier for you," Nezam warned as he undid first the boy's bonds, then Brand's. The silent sailor blocked the doorway with a scimitar in his hands. "You'll be fed in a bit, provided you behave," he added as he swiftly stepped outside the door and closed and locked it with a clang. The two men clattered back up the wooden stairway, leaving the captives alone.

"Name's Tullus, and oh, am I glad to be rid of that gag!" the other boy volunteered, scrubbing at his face with his hand for a moment before offering that same hand to Brand. Brand shook it.

"I can imagine! I'm Brand. Would you be the fisher-folk lad they were telling me was supposed to have fallen off the wharf and drowned?"

"They're saying _that_?" Tullus sounded more disgusted than anything else. "As if I'd drown! I swim like a fish! And I'm hungry as a shark," he admitted a moment latter, more somberly. "They fed and watered me this morning with a knife to my throat, so I'd not make any noise, but it wasn't much, just a bit of ship's bread. They caught me yesterday. Stupid _mon-keigh_!"

"Stupid _mon-keigh_ indeed," Brandmir agreed. "I saw those two," and he indicated Celeg and Eiliriel, "going into an alley and followed them because I didn't like the look of things, only to get caught in the trap myself."

"Bad luck for you," Tullus commiserated. "So much for good deeds being rewarded!

"It was more like stupidity being punished," Brand admitted, for now, thinking about it, he realized with considerable chagrin that he'd been foolish in the extreme not to have simply gone to the nearest constable with his suspicions instead of trying to play the rescuing Swan Knight. The slavers might have been apprehended before they left port, and he would not have been in his current situation. _The Captain will have plenty to say about **that**, should I ever see him again!_ he thought ruefully. The habit of worrying about keeping his guardian's good regard was long ingrained in Brand. The day's confession hadn't really dampened it at all and his upset over Andrahar's revelation seemed rather irrelevant at present.

"My father's a cooper," Tullus offered. "What does yours do?"

"Mine was a soldier, but he died in the War," Brand answered, and said no more. This lad did not look to be one of the many folk in Dol Amroth who knew of his connection with the royal house, and he was thinking it would be best to keep it that way. For all he knew, the revelation that he was a member of Imrahil's family might result in his immediate death and the disposal of the body at sea, if the slavers thought him too dangerous to hold. Once they reached Umbar, he might divulge the information, if the appropriate opportunity presented itself. It would be more safely done, he deemed, on dry land.

Tullus mulled Brand's statement and eyed his clothes, which were of plain, but reasonably fine cloth, then made a guess about Brand's status. "Does your family work in the palace?" he asked.

Brand thought of Imrahil, probably just now finishing a long day dispensing justice to his folk, and his cousins, all busy with their own duties, and smiled a little sadly. "Yes," he replied, truthfully enough.

"I thought you spoke too fair to be one of us dock-folk. What…what do you think is going to happen to us?" Tullus was obviously a resilient lad, but he looked worried as he asked the question.

"I think that they are going to take us to Umbar and sell us as slaves in the markets there."

"What is it like, being a slave?"

"I don't know myself, but I was told once by someone who had been one that it is not much fun. The person who buys you owns you, like a horse or dog and can do what they like with you-even kill you. And you have to do what they say, whether you want to or not, or they whip you or worse."

Tullus sat quietly for a moment, absorbing this information. Then, in a very small voice, he asked, "Do you think that anyone will come after us? Gondor's navy, or ours?"

Brand sighed. "I don't know. You've been missing for over a day, but the man I talked to said that people thought you'd drowned. I am expected home tonight for dinner, but they'll only be missing me just now, and they might not realize that I've been taken aboard a ship. Besides, I don't know if a ship anchored in Dol Amroth right now could catch this ship, even if it sailed right away."

"Then there's nothing we can do?"

"Not that I can think of," Brand admitted sadly, and the two of them fell silent.

8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8

About an hour later, Celeg and Eiliriel woke up, and they were not much pleased when they did so. Eiliriel in particular was distraught, crying for her mother and father, and there was little Brand could do or say to comfort her. It didn't help that a smell of cooking had permeated even down to the hold, and that they were all very hungry. Nezam eventually came down and bellowed at them.

"Quiet, you, or there will be no supper!" That frightened the two younger children into silence, and Brand felt somewhat guiltily grateful for it. True, he'd had long experience in dealing with little ones, but he'd also had an almost two year respite from the necessity, other than taking care of Alphros for an hour or two from time to time, and his own nerves were so abraded at present that it was difficult to find the energy to make the effort. He kept remembering the feel of the man's hands upon him, and he was a realist enough to know that that had been just the first of many indignities that would be heaped upon him in his new life.

_What is the braver thing to do?_ he wondered, _to fight them at every turn, until they slay you for being too much trouble, or to endure and bide your time until the day comes when you can strike out for your freedom? The Captain endured; but then, he had been born a slave. When he decided to strike out, that must have been very hard, to go against everything he had been raised up to. To decide for himself that he was a free man and not chattel, and to do what he had to do to make it happen-I cannot imagine the force of will that took. I don't think I'm so strong._

_Perhaps endurance **is** the better course-the longer I last, the better the chance that someone will discover that I'm actually in Umbar and get me out-if they can be troubled to do so._ That was a particularly dark thought, that a search might be done and then his relatives would return untroubled to their lives, the bastard having gone as easily as he'd come. But he didn't believe it and quickly dismissed it. Imrahil and his family were not such people, nor was his Uncle Faramir. As for Andrahar…whatever conclusion Brand might reach about how he felt about the Commander's relationship with his father, one thing he did know-if Andrahar discovered Brand was in Umbar, he would come down there himself, alone if necessary, and tear the city apart to find him.

Which heartened him somewhat, until the next dark thought occurred-_what if they **do** geld me? Would anyone want me back then, when I wasn't a whole man?_ That, he decided, would be the final sticking point. He would put up with whatever they did until it came to that, and then he would fight. Because he didn't think he wanted to live as a eunuch. And if they somehow managed to get it done, well, he was of the blood of Numenor, wasn't he? Such men could take themselves out of life and he would do that, if he could discover the way of it. He would return to Gondor whole, or not at all.

As plans went, it was not much of one, but Brand was amazed at how comforted he felt. It was as Andrahar had said, on more than one occasion: _any plan is better than none._

A stronger scent of cooking reached his nose then, and there was a clattering sound as Nezam, the silent sailor and another sailor Brand had not seen yet came downstairs, carrying wooden bowls and cups, a small loaf and a pot wrapped in cloths.

"You lad, come up here and pass this out," Nezam commanded Tullus, who looked eager to do so. "_You_ stay where you are, and no trouble," he told Brand, as he opened the door. He obviously remembered Brand's willingness to use his knife. The loaf came first, and Tullus brought that back to Brand, then bowls of what turned out to be a seafood stew were ladled out.

"There are no spoons!" Tullus protested. Nezam cuffed him across the top of the head.

"No, and you'll get none, either! Wait till it cools a bit and eat it with your fingers. Mop up the rest with the bread. And don't expect it to stay this fancy-we're just out of port. Fare will get plainer later on. The captain always spoils you lot, but then, he's not lost a slave yet."

One by one, Tullus brought bowls to everyone. The silent sailor went off into the hold, and there was a sound of water sloshing. He returned with the cups full of water obviously dipped from one of the barrels. Tullus brought those to Brand, who took them in charge so that they would not spill.

Chores done, the sailors lingered for a moment, watching their charges and talking in Haradric. Brand kept his head bent over the cups, that they might not see a reaction which would betray he had knowledge of their tongue.

"Nice lot," the unknown sailor said. "You did well, Nezam."

"So the captain said," Nezam replied complacently.

"Did he say you could keep that fancy knife you got off the big lad?"

Brand was hard pressed to keep his head down at that. Complacency gone from his voice, Nezam snapped, "Yes, he did, and you keep your nose out of it, Sharhdad! 'Tis none of your affair!"

"It's my affair that the two of you don't seem to wonder how a dock-lad came by a knife like that!"

"Mayhap he stole it! They've got their wharf-rats same as us!"

"And _mayhap_ that lad is something more than he looks, with that hair and skin and eyes!" Brand could feel the sailor's eyes intent upon him as he sat bent over the cups. Sharhdad spoke again a moment later, and his tone had changed entirely, to something that made Brand's skin crawl. "West-man arse like that is hard to find. I wouldn't object to a piece of it. He's a beauty."

"Training, if there's to be any of it at all between here and Umbar, is the captain's business," Nezam said dismissively. "You can apply to him, Sharhdad, if you're feeling frisky, but I doubt he'll agree. You've too heavy a hand-among other things."

A bellow came down the hatch. "Nezam! Sharhdad! Hirad! Are you _hand-feeding _them? Get your worthless carcasses up here!" The silent sailor immediately gathered up the pot, and started back upstairs. Nezam cast an eye over his charges.

"We'll be back for the bowls and cups. See you don't break any." And he and Sharhdad followed Hirad.

When they had gone, Brand arranged himself tailor fashion, tucking the cups into his lap that they would not spill, and called the two younger children over to him. He helped them with their bowls of stew, blowing and dipping his own fingers into the hot stuff, then blowing on it some more before giving them their bites. Hand-feeding, as the captain had said, but it got the food into them faster and they did not object. Tullus managed his own perfectly well. When the stew had cooled sufficiently that the younger children could handle it on their own, Brand left them to it and addressed himself to his own meal. The sailors had rather surprisingly given him a portion in keeping with his greater size, and by the time he got through it, his stomach was feeling better than it had since he'd come on board.

The same could not be said for poor Eiliriel, who vomited her supper almost as soon as she'd finished eating it. Brand, who'd seen it coming, had given the water into Tullus' keeping and tried to get her to the bucket hooked to the cage next to the door. He'd not quite made it. The smell set her brother off as well, but Brand managed to get him to the bucket. The bucket, to which Tullus had obviously contributed at one point, was already noisome, and the vomit on the cage floor made matters worse.

Brand, who had lived now for two years in a house that was arguably the most cleanly in Gondor, and who had developed matching habits of cleanliness himself, found it harder to bear than he might have when he was younger and living at his carter stepfather's house. But strangely enough, it also inspired an almost hysterically hilarious thought-_Try as I might, I'll never escape buckets of piss! This is the tanner's revenge for being deprived of his apprentice! _For he had indeed been 'prenticed to a tanner, the contract signed and sealed, when Andrahar had bought him out of that bondage.

He made the younger children drink their water then, to wash the taste out of their mouths and put the liquids back into them, as Cuilast was wont to say. The Swan Knights' healer was a tiger about people keeping enough liquids in them, known to come down to the lists and badger people into drinking on hot days, even despite Andrahar's protests at the interruption. The heel of bread Brand which had torn from the loaf as his portion for supper, he decided to keep against future need. Perhaps Celeg and Eiliriel would be able to keep small pieces of that down later in the night, when their stomachs would hopefully have settled a little. They were both complaining of hunger again, but he thought it better to wait a bit. No such problems with Tullus-he apparently possessed a rock-solid digestive system.

"If you've got any business to do, you'd best go ahead and do it," he informed his fellow captives. He pointed at the solitary lantern that hung near the hatchway. "They'll be down to take that away eventually, and there will be no light down here till tomorrow. That's what they did last night." Tullus went up a notch in Brand's estimation-the lad had been alone the night before, in total darkness, but seemed unfazed by the experience.

However, the prospect did not please Celeg and Eiliriel. Brand tried to forestall more crying by being as hearty and matter-of-fact as possible. "You won't be alone, you know," he said encouragingly. "We'll make these blankets into a bed and all snuggle down together. But it would be best that if you need to go, you go soon. It will be very hard to find the bucket in the dark."

Eiliriel was modest, and required Brand to hold one of the blankets up between herself and the boys and promise not to peek himself before she would agree to go and it was quite a while before she accomplished it. Celeg was a lot less trouble and Tullus was, of course, an old hand at it. Once they'd all used the bucket, Brand got them involved in helping to make the bed. It was somewhat close and stuffy as far below decks as they were, but the sea was beginning to cool with the advance of autumn and that chill was seeping through the hull. There were three blankets in the heap in the corner, and Brand spread one of them to soften the hard deck and kept the other two for covers.

He had expected that the younger children might be difficult to persuade to sleep, due to their involuntary nap earlier; but like him, they seemed to be suffering from a residual weariness because of the drugs and lay down willingly enough in the center of the makeshift bed. Brand and Tullus took the two outside spots. There were a few moments of silent fidgeting, as everyone settle themselves, then Eiliriel said, "Big boy, do you know any stories? Mama always tells us stories when we go to bed."

Brand sighed. He'd heard tales of Imrahil's legendary bed-time stories, but Alphros was only just now old enough to begin to appreciate them and Brand had not yet been present at a telling of one of the Dread Pirate Erchirion tales. But he'd had to entertain his younger brothers and sisters upon occasion, though they'd been a younger audience than all of his current companions save Eiliriel, and he remembered the stories his mother had told him.

"Have you ever heard the tale of Callon?" he asked the children after a moment's thought. Tullus chimed in enthusiastically.

"Which one? There are lots!"

"I was thinking of the one about Callon and the Magic Beans."

"Oh, that's a good one!" Tullus exclaimed.

"Yes, tell that one," Celeg agreed quietly. Though he'd not taken to weeping like his sister had, he was very subdued, a far cry from the cursing, feisty youngster who'd defied Brand earlier that very same day. Brand wasn't sure if that was because of the drugs, or his circumstances. Eiliriel merely clutched the blanket up to her chin and nodded agreement.

Brand took a moment to organize the story in his mind, then began. "Once there was a boy named Callon, a poor boy who lived with his mother on a poor farm at the foot of Morthond Vale. Callon's father was a brave soldier who had perished in the skirmishes in the years before the Ring War, and his death left Callon and his mother struggling to feed themselves. Things had come to such a pass that eventually his mother told him that they must sell their milch cow, for they'd not be able to feed her through the winter, while with the money from the sale, they might at least be able to feed themselves."

"It was a white cow, don't forget that," Tullus put in.

"It was indeed a white cow," Brand agreed before he continued, "and Callon was very fond of her, so it was with a heavy heart that he set off to market. He was fearful that their neighbor, who was a cruel man, would buy Fain, for that was her name, and mistreat her. But he never got to the market, for on the way he met a stooped old man in a hooded cloak, who carried a great staff in his hand."

"A wizard!" Tullus exclaimed. Celeg sat up on one elbow.

"A wizard? Really?" he asked.

"Yes, indeed," said Brand. "He was a real wizard, a friend to all animals, whose name was Radagast. 'That's a fine cow you have there,' he said to Callon, and before Callon knew it, he found himself telling the wizard all his troubles, for Radagast was just that sort of person, so kind that even the shyest beast would confide in him."

"What happened to the cow?" whispered Eilinel.

"I'm coming to that. Radagast heard Callon's tale out to its sad end, leaning thoughtfully on his staff. When Callon was finished, he said, "Lad, I'm a wizard who tends beasts and unlike men, they have no coin to offer in return for my services, though they sometimes give me other things. I will take your Fain and give her the best of homes, for I've need of a good milch cow, but I've nothing to offer you except this magic bean a badger gave me in return for healing his hurt leg. But if you use it wisely, it might bring you much good fortune."

"And how do I use it wisely?" Callon asked the wizard. But wizards seldom answer a question straightly and so it proved this time.

"Oh, you'll know what to do when the time comes," Radagast assured him, and would explain no more.

"Well, Callon knew that his mother would be wroth with him, and he hadn't the least idea what he was going to do with the bean, but he knew that Fain would be safe with Radagast, and that mattered more to him than his own often empty belly, so he agreed to the trade."

"Was the cow happy?" Eiliriel asked.

"She was indeed. She went home with Radagast to his home up in the hills where all the beasts came to visit him and she had grass in the summer and the finest hay and oats in the winter and she gave him all the milk he ever wanted or needed."

"That's nice."

"Yes, it was."

"I bet Callon's mother was really mad at him when he went home," Celeg said, with the knowledgeable air of someone whose mother was angry with him on a frequent basis.

"Actually, she wasn't angry at first. For Callon was a truthful lad and at first his mother believed that the bean was magic. She thought it might be a bean rather like the Ever-full Porridge Pot of legend. So she set a pot to boil on the hearth and put the bean in the water, expecting that it would make more beans and fill the pot. But it just sat bumping around in the bottom of the pot and did nothing."

"THAT was when she got angry! 'You are a fool, Callon, a well-meaning fool, but a fool nonetheless, and your folly will be the death of us!' she told him, and dumped the pot of water with the bean in it out the front door. Then she went off to her bed to wait until she starved to death."

"Did the mama starve?" Eiliriel seemed upset by that idea.

"No, or at least not immediately," Brand made haste to say. "She went to bed, and Callon did too, and despite the growling of their empty bellies, sleep eventually found them both. But when they woke up in the morning, they found a very strange thing had happened. They thought at first that they'd woken up early or slept the whole day through into the night, for their little cottage was almost dark as night. And that was because of the huge-"

"-beanstalk!" Tullus crowed.

"-that had grown up in front of their house during the night," Brand finished with a mock-severe glower at Tullus. "Do you want to tell the rest of this story?"

"Oh no, you can do it," Tullus said blithely, and Celeg and Eiliriel laughed.

"Very well then, but no more interruptions! So there was this huge beanstalk right in front of their door and no matter how far back they craned their heads, they could not see the top of it, for it vanished into the very clouds that hung over the peaks of the White Mountains. And when Callon saw this, he thought that he understood what Radagast had told him, and he knew that he should climb up the beanstalk to seek his fortune."

"But his mother, despite berating him the night before for a fool, loved him and was not eager for him to hazard himself in such a way, and begged him to stay. Callon would not be moved. 'Mother,' he said, 'T'was I who lost our last hope of surviving the winter and 'tis I who must make amends. This adventure was meant for me, I think.' And so despite her pleas, he set his foot in the crook of one of the bottom branches and pushed himself upwards."

"I bet that was a very long climb," Tullus noted. "Taller even than the tallest ship's mast."

"Much taller," Brand agreed. "Taller than ten, no, _twenty_ ship's masts all stacked on top of each other! I don't know how Callon did it! I hope he didn't look down! But whether he looked down or not eventually he climbed up all the way to the place where the beanstalk poked through the clouds and through the clouds themselves, and he found a palace! And he wasn't sure if it were a palace in the clouds or on the peaks of the mountains, but whichever it was, it must belong to a very large person, for the door was ten times Callon's height, and he could never have reached the latch. But the door was ajar, and so he was able to slip inside."

"What did he find inside?" Celeg asked, and there was finally a drowsy hesitance in his voice that Brand was glad to hear.

"He found that it was a very grand house, with very heavy curtains upon the windows, and everything within, though it was all very fine, was made for someone who was as tall as ten men! He saw no one and kept close to the walls in his wanderings, like a mouse he felt, and eventually he came to a room that was full of treasure!"

"What kind of treasure?" Tullus asked with relish.

"Oh piles of gold, and piles of silver, and yet more piles of pearls and gems, each sorted into heaps of their own kinds. And jewelry of all sorts, and crowns and cups and plates and swords and armor. Almost anything wonderful you could think of was there, and on the top of the heap in the place of honor was a golden harp, whose pillar was shaped like a beautiful elf-woman."

"What's a pillar?" Tullus inquired. Celeg yawned, and Tullus finally did so as well. Brand stole a quick look at Eiliriel, and found that her eyes were closed.

"The front part of the harp."

"Oh."

"And to Callon's amazement, the harp-lady opened her eyes and turned her head towards him and said in a sweet and melodious voice, 'Lad, 'tis your death to remain here, for this is the home of a most ancient and terrible giant and boys are his favorite food! Flee now, while you have the chance!"

"What did Callon do?" came yet another Tullus question, this one punctuated fore and aft by yawns. Brand smiled.

"I think that the rest of the tale can wait until tomorrow. Eiliriel is asleep, and she will want to hear it too. Good night, Celeg. Good night, Tullus." There was no answer from Celeg, who had followed his sister into sleep, but Tullus huddled further under the blankets and sighed.

"Good night, Brandmir. It's a good story so far."

"I'm glad you liked it."

Tullus said no more, and a little while later, Brand heard a tiny, soft snore from the far side of the blankets. Sleep was not so kind to him. He lay awake, staring up at the deck above him, listening to the rumble of the sailors' comings and goings above his head and the rushing of water past the hull, all too aware of the immensity of the black depths beneath the shallow shell of their vessel. He wondered how Erchirion or any sailor could contemplate that and still go to sea. The smells from the bucket and Eiliriel's rejected dinner were harder to ignore now that he was still and did not have the story-telling to distract him, and he knew that it was just the beginning; that without access to fresh water for baths and trapped beneath the deck in this noxious pen like animals, they would all smell far worse before the journey ended.

_It's a good story so far. _Would that their own tale was progressing so well! He thought about what it would be like to stand naked on the block in the slave-market of Umbar, his destiny in the hands of whoever had the most money to purchase it. The strange turns his life had taken thus far, from stable-boy to near-prince and back down the social ladder to the lowest of the low, a slave, were as strange as any story ever told to amuse sleepy children. _As strange as Andrahar's, in fact! _he thought, unappreciative of the irony. _It's as if I'm living his tale in reverse. He was a slave in Umbar and went to Dol Amroth and found good fortune. I went to Dol Amroth and found good fortune, then was sent to Umbar to be a slave._

Would his courage be equal to the tests before him? He wondered, and worried about the answer. Worse than the fear of death or mutilation was the fear that he would dishonor himself in some way, fail those who had taught him so much in the last two years. And he wondered as well about what his father would have done in such a situation. Would Boromir have made the choice Brand had decided upon earlier, to endure until the opportunity for escape arose? Or would he have thrown himself over the rail when brought to it, choosing to give himself to the Sea rather than suffer the humiliation that was bound to follow? Which was truly the braver course? Even Andrahar's advice conflicted itself here, for _death before dishonor_ and _survival is the truest victory_ both held places in the Commander's personal philosophy.

Not for the first time, Brand wondered what his father would have thought of him, in the unlikely chance they could ever have met. But this time he also wondered what he would have thought of Boromir, given what he knew about the Captain-General now. He had listened to the tales of those who had loved Boromir the best, always seeking some sense of what his father had been about. And one and all, those tales had been of someone who was to be admired, brave and stalwart, dedicated to the defense of his country. Some of them had also spoken of his sense of humor, depicting a man who could laugh at himself more easily than at others. How could Brand reconcile those things with that letter, the one that ended-_You were the greatest joy of my life, Andra_? Or was any sort of reconciliation even necessary? If a man was a good man, did it truly matter who he slept with? Could the culture Brand had grown up in be mistaken in its condemnation of lovers of men? There was evidence that his great-uncle seemed to think so, and the King as well. And they were both very wise men…

Brand's thoughts tread this incessant, weary round like an ox threshing grain until exhaustion enabled sleep to claim him at last. He never noticed when they came to take the light away.


	5. You’ve finally come far enough

_Brand was on the beach at Dol Amroth, walking towards the point, troubled because he had forgotten something. What was it? Oh, yes, his fishing pole. He was going to meet Gellam and he had to go back and find his fishing pole. _

_He turned around and started back towards the city, but no matter how long he walked, it never seemed to get any nearer. So he started running, and ran till he was out of breath and his heart racing in his chest, but still he made no progress. The city was as far away as ever. The sun was almost white overhead in a white-blue sky, and it seemed to him that it should be hot, but it didn't feel that way. In fact, it was chilly. There was a breeze that would blow every now and again, and it whined past his ears like midges or mosquitoes. Oddly, the breeze seemed warmer than the air._

_He had to get back to Dol Amroth! He needed his fishing pole and besides, his family would be missing him! Brand started to run again, frantic. The city shimmered, mirage-like, ahead in the distance. He ran and ran, faster and faster. He kept running, till he felt that he might fall down of exhaustion if he did not stop. And when he finally did stop, he could tell that he'd still not closed the distance. A frustrated sob broke from him._

_A gull cried overhead, then another. Gulls were beginning to come from all quarters of the sky. They were descending in a quarreling, screeching flock to the beach directly ahead of him. He remembered what Geliran had told him, that he should not approach the gulls, but get the City Guard instead. But how could he do that? The gulls were between him and the city! _

_And now something was coming through the gulls. Brand could see the dark shape of it, and whatever it was, it was tall! Remembering the drowned bodies, he backed away a few steps, then a few more. The strange white sun, which had been overhead just a moment ago, was now sinking into the ocean, and there was a moon rising over the dunes. The moon at least looked as it should. The sun sank in a blaze of pinks and oranges and purples, the gulls dispersed and as a cool blue light seemed to suffuse the beach, the figure came towards Brand. It was a man, he could tell at last, dark haired, wearing a white shirt and a pair of nondescript dark breeches. He didn't look drowned. He wore no stockings or shoes, and carried no weapon in his hands. A huge bird flew overhead, its shadow passing over the man, its pinions silvered by the moon, and it uttered a screaming cry as it flew into the West. Brand thought it might be an eagle, but if it was, it was the biggest one he'd ever seen or heard of._

_The man was drawing closer now. Brand could see his face, and it was the face from the portrait in the Steward's House in Minas Tirith._

"_Hullo, Brandmir," a voice he had never heard in life said. "You've finally come far enough to find me."_

8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8

Then, somehow, without any time seeming to have passed at all, they were sitting on the dunes together in the moonlight.

"Well, you're in a bit of a fix, and no mistake," said Boromir. While apparently aware of his son's troubles, he did not seem unduly distressed by them.

"What shall I do?" Brand asked. He felt very odd, sitting here talking to his dead father.

Boromir flashed him a grin. "Well, lad, there's an old saying among soldiers- _Fortune is a lady who favors a bold suitor._"

"What is that supposed to mean? Aren't you here to help me?"

"Whatever gave you that idea? I am here to give you a message to give to Andra. I could never reach him like I could reach Uncle and Faramir, and I don't know if I'll ever have the chance again, so see that you live and get back to him. I know something now that I didn't know when I fell, and he needs to know it too. 'Tis very simple, just three words-_Glorfindel was right._ Tell him that. He will know what it means."

Disappointed and feeling more than a little bereft, Brand nodded, arms clasped around knees, his head bowed. Boromir, twirling a blade of dune grass between his fingers, watched his son thoughtfully.

"What would you have done, Brandmir, had I been alive and you met me knowing what you know now about me and Andrahar?"

"I don't know. I don't know how I feel about it yet."

Boromir smiled wistfully. "I wish I _had_ been able to come back, for Andra's sake. It would have been grand! Faramir could have been Steward with my blessing, and I could have been Aragorn's Captain-General. The Gondor the three of us could have made together! And I could have been with Andra openly at last."

Irritated, Brand snapped, "Oh, do you think so? Do you think your men would have followed a buggerer?"

His father chuckled, and lay back upon his elbows, looking up at the stars. "Of _course_ they would have! They'd have followed me even if I tupped sheep! Don't confuse morality with competence, Brandmir. To a soldier, only one thing matters-_does the man who will make the decision about how to spend my life know what he's doing?_ _Will he not waste it?_ My staff suspected I was a lover of men, particularly towards the end, when I stopped making any pretence of looking for a wife. You know from Andra that the officers in the Swan Knights know about him, and I'll guarantee his tastes are speculated about in the ranks, given that he's not been seen with a woman in almost fifty years. I daresay they think that he and Uncle are sleeping together right now! Do you think that stops any soldier of Dol Amroth from jumping when Andra tells him to jump? And he's Haradrim to boot! They may indeed resent him for his nationality and what they suspect are his preferences, but they also know that he knows his business better than almost anyone in Gondor, and in the end, that's what counts."

"It's a perversion!"

"According to whom? It is not in Khand-there are men there who only sleep with women to make their sons-they sleep with boys the rest of the time so as to not pollute their 'masculine essence'." Boromir gave his son a wicked grin. "You'd be very popular in Khand."

Hurt, Brand muttered, "That's not funny! Particularly since I might end up there!"

Boromir snorted. "Oh, don't give up hope just yet! You still might get out of your situation-provided you use your head and the things that you've already been taught, which are more than you realize you know." He sat back up and stretched. "Anyway, where was I? Oh yes-the most famous courtly epic poetry of Harad almost all deals with the love of shield-mates. _Kedara and Asinyal _for instance."

"The Captain has that one. I've seen it. It's about two _men_?"

"Indeed it is. Two warriors who are lovers. And the Elves don't care about who sleeps with whom-love is love as far as they're concerned."

"Everything I've heard about Elves says they're strange."

"Perhaps…having met some, I can't disagree with you about that. But there are scions of good old Numenor itself who agree with the Elves. You should ask Aragorn about what goes on among the Rangers some time-I'm sure you'll find it enlightening."

"The Northern Rangers do it?"

"A few of them. Some of the Rohirrim as well, if my old friend Théodred was to be believed. Though Éomer's got a stick up his arse about lovers of men."

Brand sat stunned, as his world view reoriented itself. As he had wondered earlier, it seemed as if there were lovers of men everywhere and more of them than he had imagined. His father watched him with an amused smile on his face.

"Did I leave anyone out? Let's see…Dunlanders. I don't know about the Dunlanders for certain. But having seen some of their women, I suspect they're lovers of men out of necessity. Or perhaps they turn to their livestock for consolation…" Shocked, Brand felt his face heat at the very idea. His father chuckled.

"So there you have it. It's really only Gondor that has the problem with it; well, Gondor and some of the Rohirrim. And Gondorians are hypocrites. That sodomy law that was on the books for forever until Aragorn repealed it?-oh, and if you get the chance, do tell him that I appreciate that for Andra's sake-it was never enforced unless the particular man-lover had made an enemy of someone more powerful than he was, who wanted to ruin him politically."

"I don't care who thinks it's acceptable! The idea disgusts _me_!"

"Hmmmm…sounds to me like you _do_ know how you feel about it! And it's not something you ever want to do yourself, because it doesn't tickle your particular fancy. You're certainly entitled to your own opinion. But don't go about condemning people because their fancies are different from yours. The time you'll spend making love in your life is a very small portion of time, really, and it has very little bearing on everything else you'll accomplish. So how you do it is really not that important-providing that both parties are in agreement about what goes on and are adults."

Boromir rolled over onto one elbow and looked Brand in the eye.

"Try this one on for size-since you are base-born, you cannot possibly have any honor and your deeds, no matter how heroic, are tainted by the stain of your birth."

Brand flushed. "I can't help that I was base-born. I would think bastards could be heroes just like anybody else."

"_Exactly_! Got it first time around! What a bright lad you are! Andra and I can't help the way we were born either."

"But…the captain said he doesn't know if he was born that way or not. He thinks maybe it was because he was a catamite when he was younger."

"Well, _I_ wasn't a catamite! I had been sleeping with women since I was fifteen! _Lots_ of women! And the time came when I realized that it just didn't work for me any more. So I went to Andra and asked him to sleep with me so I would know if I were a lover of men or not. Yes-_I_ was the one who started it, not Andra! He didn't seduce me, if that was what you were thinking. Honestly, Brandmir-do you truly believe for one moment that he is raising you up to be his lover?"

"I…no, not really. He said he would never do that, and his word is good. Besides, I don't see the Prince standing by while such a thing happened, even if I am base-born. But Captain Andrahar raised you, didn't he?"

"Not really. Oh, he instructed me in arms when I was at Dol Amroth, but I spent most of my boyhood in Minas Tirith when all was said and done. But I had been with him enough to know that he was absolutely honest, trustworthy and discrete. So that was why I took my dilemma to him. And he didn't disappoint me. He never has."

"He was a lot older than you were, though."

Boromir nodded, and sat up suddenly, pulling up another piece of dune grass to twist. "He was," he agreed, "though I was a man full grown and the Captain-General when I came to him, Brandmir-I'll have you remember that. I ranked him, rather than the other way around. Probably the only good thing about my dying early was that I used to worry that the day would come when because of the age difference between us he would refuse me, cast me off and tell me to get a younger lover. And I didn't want that! I wanted _Andra_-even when he became old and wrinkly and cantankerous. I would have happily loved him until the day he died."

He looked at his son directly once more. "Had I lived, would you have liked it better if I had found you after having done what was expected of me and married a woman despite my preferences? Made her miserable by trying to live a lie? Made myself miserable as well? Forced you to live in an unhappy home? I think perhaps that you already have already had your fill of domestic strife."

"I…I don't know."

"Would you have wanted to live with your father if he was openly living with another man? Could the whoreson bastard have handled public opinion about that?"

"I …don't know about that either."

"Goodness, but there are quite a lot of things you don't know, aren't there? You're going to have to cultivate some decision-making ability, Brandmir, if you ever hope to be a commander. And I cannot stay any longer to wait until you make up your mind. So know this-there are things I did in my life that I do regret. I do _not_ regret refusing to live a lie. I do _not_ regret refusing to marry a woman and make her miserable. And I will never, _ever_ regret loving Andrahar! So you, my son, are just going to have to come to terms with that in whatever way seems best to you." He rolled to his feet in one smooth motion, and brushed the sand off of his breeches. A hand was extended down to Brandmir, who after a moment's hesitation took it and was pulled easily to his feet.

"I've been a bit of a bastard myself here tonight, so let me make amends now," Boromir said. He released Brand's hand and took his head gently between sword-callused hands, looking him in the eyes. "You are a grand, well-grown, handsome lad and what I _do_ regret is that we'll never have the chance to know each other . You are a good and brave lad as well, and you're going to need every bit of your courage and your wits in the next little while. You have my blessing, for whatever that is worth," and he pressed his lips, soft and warm, to Brand's brow, "and my hope that you will be able to come to terms with this and look after Andra for me. You don't need me to tell you that you are good for each other." He cocked his head suddenly, as if hearing something that was inaudible to Brand.

"I have to go. Some people used me pretty badly to get something done that needed to happen, and I have a sort of dispensation as a result. But it only goes so far." Suddenly, Brand was enveloped in the embrace he'd often dreamed of on the long, cold winter nights in the carter's garret, the warm embrace of a father. Boromir's arms were very strong and hard, and though he was only clothed and not armored, Brand fancied there was a scent of leather and steel about him nonetheless. Those arms tightened for a moment, till Brand felt his ribs creak a bit, then released him. Boromir stepped back.

"Don't forget to give Andra my message, lad. And tell him that I love him, while you're about it. Valar guard and guide."

"You too, sir," Brand whispered.

Boromir, already turning away and starting down the dune, looked back over his shoulder and grinned, teeth flashing white in the moonlight. "Have no fear of that!" He strode away, and Brand watched him go, a dark shape against the moonlit beach that dwindled away in the distance until, suddenly, between one blink and the next it was gone.

8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8

Brand woke to the smallest bit of pale light filtering down from the hatches above, and lay quietly, thinking about his dream, if dream it had been. Had that truly been his father? He would have thought that a dream Boromir would have been, well, more _polite, _or approving or affectionate. An idealized father figure, not flippant and insulting and a bit crude, which made him inclined to believe that he'd had some sort of actual visitation. _I could never reach him like I could reach Uncle and Faramir _Boromir had said_-_both Imrahil and Faramir had the Dol Amroth gift, as did Brand. Perhaps one of them could tell him the form their visitations with Boromir had taken-providing Brand ever got the opportunity to talk to them about it!

His left arm had fallen asleep, because in the night Eiliriel had rolled over and laid her head upon his left shoulder as if it were a pillow. Carefully, he slid out from beneath the little girl, and then from beneath the blankets. Rolling to his feet, he found that in the night, someone had come down and cleaned up the floor and emptied the bucket. So he used it again, wishing once more that there was water for him to wash with. That habit had been driven into him so forcefully upon his arrival at Dol Amroth that the inability to do so was making him uncomfortable. The blankets had been musty and none too clean and he was already feeling grubby and malodorous.

It was not long before the children awoke and then there was a repeat of the last evening's business, with Eiliriel wanting her privacy once more. When they'd all finished, Brand set them to folding the blankets into a padded seat that they could rest upon and when that was done he brought out the bread he'd saved from the night before. Tullus refrained manfully, saying he'd had enough at last night's supper, but Celeg and Eiliriel fell upon it ravenously, though they complained of being thirsty afterwards. Fortunately, the mute sailor brought them food soon after, another tough loaf of bread and some dates and water, and this time the two younger children did not get sick.

Once the diversion of breakfast was over, there was not anything to do. Brand thought for a moment about getting the children to talk about their families, but then decided that that would just upset them.

Eiliriel said, after fidgeting about for some minutes, "Big boy, tell some more of the story."

"I think perhaps we will save that for tonight," Brand demurred. "It will give us something to look forward to."

"But we need to talk about _something_!" Tullus protested. "There's nothing else to do down here."

Brand cast about in his mind a bit desperately. "I went to Minas Tirith back in the spring. Would you like to hear about that? Have any of you ever been there?"

None of them had, and all of them were interested. So Brand found himself speaking of the multi-tiered city and all of the sights he'd seen.

"Did you ever see the King?" Celeg asked after he'd been talking for a while. "And the Queen?" Eiliriel added.

"I did indeed. They came to the Prince's house for dinner one night."

"What are they like?" Tullus asked, intrigued.

"The King looks like he's the tallest man in Gondor. He walks very swiftly on those long legs-that's why his house is named Telcontar. It's funny to see him walking through the Citadel and all his courtiers scampering after, trying to keep up. He has dark hair with only a little grey in it, despite the fact that he's about ninety years old. His eyes are grey too, and when he looks at you, it's like he's looking right through you down to your soul."

"He sounds scary!" Celeg said. Eiliriel and Tullus nodded agreement.

"I think he could be, if he wanted to," Brand said thoughtfully. "There's no doubt about that, you can feel it about him. But he never was when I saw him, he was always very soft-spoken. He has a bit of a strange accent though."

"What about the _Queen_? I want to know about the Queen and her pretty dresses!" Eiliriel commanded.

"Hmmmm, let's see. I don't remember much about dresses as a rule," Brand wrinkled his nose for a moment, then smiled at the little girl. "but the night she came to visit the Prince, Queen Arwen was wearing a lavender dress. And it had embroidery all about the neck and wrists and hem, and there were little purple jewels sewn into the embroidery, that glittered when she moved. And tiny pearls as well."

"Oooooo, that sounds pretty! Did she have her crown on? And lots of jewels?"

"I think she had a necklace to match the dress, and perhaps earrings as well. They had the same sort of jewels on them. But no crown. They don't wear their crowns unless it's a formal ceremony or something."

"Well that's silly! I thought Kings and Queens wore their crowns all the time! How do you tell who they are?"

"Trust me, you would know if ever you saw them," Brand said sincerely, "crowns or not."

"Did the King ever speak to you?" Tullus asked.

"Just once. I was in the dining room, and he was polite, as I've said," Brand answered, and did not explain further. If Tullus chose to think that Brand had been _serving_ in the dining room, Brand would not say anything to change his mind.

"_So this is Brandmir, of whom I have heard so much already," King Elessar Telcontar had said, with an understanding smile for a totally intimidated and consternated boy. "You are the very image of your father, lad. I cannot help but feel that you and I shall be great friends."_

"Is the Queen bee-youtiful? Because queens are supposed to be bee-youtiful," Eiliriel asserted.

Brand, remembering a voice like music itself and eyes that seemed to hold the starlight's glow, nodded. "She is the most beautiful woman in the whole world, 'tis said, and having seen her, I think it must be true."

"I should like to see the King and Queen," Tullus said wistfully. Brand smiled, and spoke without thinking.

"Perhaps they will come to Dol Amroth some day and you'll have the chance."

"Unless they come to Umbar from Dol Amroth, I'll never get the chance," grumbled Tullus, and Brand winced. There was silence for a long time after that.

8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8

They were not given any sort of lunch. Sometime after noon, as close as Brand could reckon from the movement of the patch of sunlight streaming down through the hatch, a disturbance broke out. "Ship astern!" came the cry faintly down into the hold and there was a flurry of shouted orders and a thunder of feet over their heads, as the sailors who had been sleeping off-watch awakened and hastened up on deck.

"What's happening?" Tullus asked.

"I think they might have sighted a ship behind us," Brand answered, struggling to suppress the surge of hope that leapt flaming into life within him. '_Chiron, is that you?_

Tullus whistled. "Is it a Gondorian ship?"

"I don't know. Let me listen some more, and see if I can find out." Brand went to the door of the cage and pressed himself against the bars. Eiliriel got up and came over to him, seating herself beside him.

"Big boy, are my mommy and daddy on the ship?" Looking down at her red-rimmed eyes and woebegone expression, Brand felt a surge of pity and gave her a squeeze, letting her snuggle against his shoulder.

"No, little one, they are not. But it might be a ship from Dol Amroth, come to take us home. That's what we're hoping."

"How will you know?" came Celeg's question. He too moved over closer to Brand, though he did not snuggle as his sister was doing.

"Hopefully, the sailors will say something about it, but I need everyone to be quiet so I can hear. And it might be a little while before we know for certain-you can see a ship in the distance with a spyglass for a while before you can tell what flag she flies."

"It sounds like you've been on a ship before," Tullus said enviously.

"I have been once, with my cousin for a couple of days. He's a sailor."

"Was it a war-ship, or a merchant ship?"

"A war-ship."

"However did you manage that? You lucky fellow! I want to be a sailor or maybe a marine in the Navy. But Father says you have to know someone to get in, just like in the Swan Knights."

"I'm afraid I don't know how they choose people," Brand admitted. "My cousin is an officer in the Navy, and he arranged it so that I could sail on the ship for a couple of days to see if I liked it."

"Did you like it?"

"I did, though I think I would rather be a Swan Knight myself. I am better with horses than ships." He smiled down at Eiliriel, who was being quiet for once, snuggled up beside him and toying with his hair, and gave another smile to Celeg, who was also behaving admirably. "But we can talk about that another time. Let's be quiet now for a bit, so I can listen some more and you all listen as well. Your ears are younger than mine, after all."

Celeg chuckled at that, pointing at Brand and saying, "You have _old_ ears!"

Silence fell as they all strained their ears, young and old. At first there was just the running of the sailors and more orders. There was no way that they could hear the captain up on his quarterdeck, but eventually faint cries of "Dol Amroth! Dol Amroth!" arose from the lookouts. The other children could hear as well, and Tullus whooped.

"Now we'll see some action! Our sea-dogs will make them sorry they ever stuck their toes in the water!"

"Tullus, it might not be a war-ship. It might simply be one of our merchant vessels."

But Celeg had brightened at the news, as did had Eiliriel. "Are the soldiers going to come and take us home?" the boy asked hopefully.

"I don't know," Brand said. "And," he warned them a moment later, "even if it's a war-ship the Haradrim might not give us up without a fight. Slavery is against the law in Gondor. They'll be in big trouble if they're boarded and we're found here." A chill inexplicably ran through him as he said those words, but the other children didn't seem to notice anything amiss.

"Let's listen some more," Tullus suggested, and they did so. Nothing happened for some time, and becoming bored after a while, Celeg and his sister moved back to the blankets where they set to amusing themselves by unraveling a corner of one. Brand and Tullus stayed at their post close to the door.

Eventually there was a clatter of booted feet coming down the stairs. They stopped on the deck up above, by the stairs, and when the first man spoke Brand could hear his voice clearly. It was the captain.

"A warship!" he said in Haradric. "Flying the royal standard! And closing on us as if they've nothing better to do with a whole sea to sail in! Could someone have seen you taking the children?"

"I do not see how, captain." That was Nezam. "We were very careful."

"However it happened, we can't be found with the children aboard, they would hang us all." The captain sighed in disgust. "And this would have been a far more profitable cargo than our last one-particularly that older boy. But it cannot be helped. Finish them, Nezam, and do it swiftly. No blood! We'll wrap them up and weight them and throw them over the side before the warship gets any closer. The Gondorrim might suspect, but they won't be able to prove anything."

Brand suddenly understood for the first time in his life what terror meant. It was listening to a man discuss killing you and disposing of your body as if you were merely some sort of valuable livestock who had outlived your usefulness. '_No blood'? _he thought queasily. _What does that mean? Do they intend to throttle us? Wring our necks like chickens?_

And he must have paled or reacted in some way, for Tullus suddenly looked at him in concern. "Go over with the others, Tullus," he said softly. There was a tiny quaver in his voice and he knew the boy could hear it. A gentle nudge emphasized the command, and Tullus did as he had been bidden and went to the back of the cage, looking back worriedly over his shoulder at Brand, who drew in a deep breath and let it out again, striving to master himself.

"Hurry, Nezam!" the captain was saying. Brand could hear him hurrying back up the stairs.

_The successful negotiator always acts as if he is operating from a position of strength, even if that is not the case, _Prince Imrahil had once said. That certainly seemed to apply to Brand's current position!

He got to his feet and backed away from the door. Nezam came down the stairs, unlocked the cage, then stepped inside. "Come lad," he said to Brand in Westron, pleasant as if he wasn't intending to murder him in the next moment, "the captain wants to talk to you."

_No, you just want me to step into your grasp, _Brand thought grimly. He dropped into the ready stance Andrahar had taught him instead and the sailor looked surprised.

"_You_ go talk to your captain, Nezam," Brand told him in Haradric. "Tell him that Sharhdad is more clever than both of you. I am no wharf-rat-I'm the one the warship is looking for. The Steward of Gondor is my uncle."

Nezam's eyes widened. "You speak our tongue!"

"Oh yes. I've been listening to you all along. So know this-I am of the royal house of Dol Amroth, and if you slay me or these children who are under my care, my spirit will _curse_ this ship! You will never have a day's luck upon the sea until your doom is finally achieved and Ulmo and Ossë drag you all screaming so far down into the depths of the ocean that you will never find the Sacred Fire!"

_Sailors_, his cousin Erchirion had once stated, _are the most superstitious people in the world, except for soldiers._ This had been said at the dinner table one night in the palace and there had then followed a conversation about whether one or the other was the most superstitious. Elphir and Erchirion had debated the matter, each giving examples they'd encountered, while Imrahil, with his experience on land and sea, had contributed to both sides. Nonetheless, Brand felt a little silly calling curses down upon Nezam's head-until he saw the sailor actually pale.

"Get your captain!" he snapped. "NOW!"

For a moment, he thought the man might actually comply. Nezam shivered, then did a little gesture that Brand had seen Andrahar make every great once in a while, that was supposed to ward off misfortune.

"If they are looking for you, then of a certainty _you_ cannot be here when they come!" he cried. "I'm sorry, boy, but I have my orders! Don't fight me and it won't even hurt much!" He lunged at Brand, hands seeking his throat, and the children, who had been watching the exchange uncomprehendingly, cried out in surprise and fear.

_Weapons are all around you,_ _lad, _Andrahar had told him once, _if you only think about it. Any everyday object that can harm accidentally may be turned to that purpose with intent. _Along with the sword lessons that had begun almost instantly upon his arrival in Dol Amroth-for he had, Andrahar had said, years to make up in that-the Armsmaster had from time to time given him some personal instruction in the art of dirty street fighting.

So as Nezam lunged, he slipped to the left. The man's hand slapped across his upper chest, but did not achieve a purchase. Brand's hand, however, did find its target, the handle of the bucket. With a squeak, it came free of the hook that kept it from tipping over in heavy seas and with both hands, he hurled the contents up into Nezam's face. Some of the ordure spattered him as well, but uncaring, he kept moving. The sailor cried out in surprise and disgust, scrabbling at his eyes, and as he did so Brand dropped the bucket and went for Nezam's waist, where his father's knife was belted.

Feeling him close, Nezam reached down blindly with befouled hands and got the grip on Brand's throat he had wanted. But Brand had gotten what he was seeking as well, the hilt of the knife sliding into his hand almost eagerly it seemed, and as Nezam's hands tightened and stars began to appear whitely in his vision, he shoved the knife into the man's belly once, then again.

It was easier than he had thought it would be. There was no real resistance at all, and for a moment he thought that he'd missed. Then Nezam's hands fell away from his throat and the man was toppling backwards, clutching his belly and groaning. Eiliriel was screaming now, but the noise barely registered. Brand's focus was entirely upon the man down upon the deck before him, staring up at him with uncomprehending eyes, the man he knew was dead already, though it might take as long as a couple of excruciating hours for Nezam's body to register that fact.

Brand wanted to weep. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to get as far away from Nezam as he could until the man passed away, somewhere where he couldn't hear the Haradrim's moans of agony. But he knew his duty. Hunter or soldier, you did not wound then leave your prey to suffer.

"I am sorry. _I_ don't know how to do this so it doesn't hurt," he told the man in his native tongue. "The Fire take you home." And he swiftly stooped and cut Nezam's throat.


	6. I give you my word as a lord

"You _killed_ him!" Tullus gasped, but he seemed admirably in command of himself. Eiliriel was still screaming and her brother was weeping.

"I had to. He was going to kill us." Though Nezam had not had hold of him long, Brand found that his voice was hoarse and talking painful, and he had to speak low in any event, to avoid being overheard. "Strangle us and wrap us in sailcloth and weight us and throw us over the side before the warship reached us. That's what he and the captain were talking about upstairs. They'll all hang if they're found with us aboard." He stripped his knife's scabbard off Nezam's belt, touching the man as little as he could in the process, and put it back on his own belt. Wiping the blade clean of blood, he then sheathed it.

"You speak Haradric?" Tullus asked, also speaking quietly.

"I do. A little. Just enough, as things turned out. Tullus, that _is_ a war-ship coming after us. They're coming after me. The Prince himself is on board. He's my great-uncle."

Tullus cursed then, a curse that would have gotten Brand's mouth washed out with soap in any of the households he'd ever inhabited. "_Of course_! You're _Brandmir_! How stupid of me!" He gave Brand a hurt look. "Why didn't you tell us?"

"Because I didn't want anyone to know. I was afraid they'd decide I was too dangerous to have aboard and do to me what they just tried to do to all of us."

"That makes sense," Tullus agreed after a moment's consideration. "What should we do now, my lord?" He seemed much happier with an official authority figure at hand.

"The captain may send someone down to help Nezam at any moment. He doesn't have much time to accomplish our deaths and dispose of us. We have to stay alive until _Foam-flyer_ reaches us."

"_Foam-flyer_ _herself?"_

"I'm pretty sure. My cousin Erchirion was in port and it's the fastest ship on the coast."

"_Foam-flyer _is the fastest ship anywhere! _She_ was the ship you were on for a couple of days?"

"Yes. Tullus, we can talk about that later! Right now, we need to get Celeg and Eiliriel out of here and find someplace in the hold they can hide." Nezam had carried no sword, but Brand helped himself to the key to the cage. It was on a ring with a couple of other keys. Tullus began trying to quiet the two children, but gave it up as a bad job after a few moments and settled for trying to get them to move past Nezam's body. They actually were surprisingly willing to do that, though they stepped carefully around the puddle of blood seeping into the deck. Once out of the cage, Eiliriel wanted to go up the stairs. She was no longer screaming, but when Tullus tried to direct her into the darkness of the hold instead, she started crying more loudly.

Swiftly, Brand finished draping the blankets over Nezam's body so that it was completely obscured, then stepped out of the cage. He picked up Eiliriel and carried her into the depths of the hold, his hand over her mouth. Celeg was urged along behind with Tullus.

"Hush, sweetling," Brand murmured to the little girl. "It was all right to scream and cry for a little while, because they thought that man was down here killing all of us. But he would be finished by now, and you have to play dead, do you understand? That goes for you as well, Celeg. We're going to find you a mouse-hole to hide in and you two have to pretend to be quiet little mice."

"What's going to happen to us?" Celeg asked. Brand let go of Eiliriel's mouth and she looked up at him indignantly, her face hot and swollen. "You have blood on your hands, Big Boy. And you got it on me. And you stink!" Strangely, she did not seem overly upset about the source of that blood. _Thank the Valar for the single-mindedness of children! _he thought to himself wryly.

"I'm sorry, Eiliriel," he said aloud in a low, raspy tone. "Hopefully, we'll be able to wash up later. Now listen, the two of you-you heard me talking to Tullus?" They nodded. "Then you know about the ship. We need to stay alive until it catches up. There may be more people coming down here soon. Tullus and I are going to deal with them while you hide. If something happens to us, I want you to keep hiding and _stay quiet-_unless someone comes down here who you know is Gondorian, and then you can let them know where you are. Do you understand me?" Another nod from each of them. "Very well then, let's look for a place to be your mouse hole. It's going to be dark, but don't worry-Tullus and I will be out here."

Finding a hiding place turned out to be easier said than done, for the cargo was densely packed and well secured against the sea's motion. Short on time, Brand had to settle for making the two younger children squeeze into the space above some bales of what looked like linen and the deck above. "Be very quiet!" he reminded them in a hoarse whisper, and they nodded and squirmed back into the darkness.

His heart and mind were both racing. _Others will be down here any time now, when Nezam doesn't come back up! I can't fight grown men with a knife! I need something to keep them off! But what? _Brand cast his eyes about the hold, desperately seeking something to use as a weapon-and his eye fell upon the lantern, which had been brought down with their breakfast, and forgotten, still burned dimly upon its hook. Brand had learned much from his brief voyage with Erchirion. And one of the things he had learned was that sailors feared nothing more than a fire at sea. Erchirion had given him quite the lecture on shipboard protocol for dealing with open flame almost as soon as he had come on board.

"Tullus!" he hissed to the smaller boy, "See if you can find some lamp oil! Something that will burn well. And anything that might be used as a weapon." He himself dragged the blankets out of the cage, baring Nezam's body once more, dropping them at the bottom of the stairs, then hurried to a linen bale closest to the cage and slashed at the wrappings with his knife. Sea-steel was coveted for a reason-the keen edge made swift work of the bindings and protecting coverings. Brand found the end of a piece and started pulling. Soon he had a couple of lengths of fine linen, which he carried over to the pile of blankets and dropped on top of them.

"Over here, Brand!" Tullus called softly, and Brand turned to find that he was indicating a barrel with a spigot on a stand. "But it's bolted onto the stand and the stand is fastened to the wall."

"That's all right." Brand went to get the noisome bucket, thinking how useful it had been thus far this day, and brought it over to the barrel, opened the spigot and started to fill it.

"I found an axe too," Tullus informed him, and indeed there was a small axe beside him, not much bigger than a hatchet.

"That's _good_, Tullus! You can keep that. Here, watch the bucket for a moment." Leaving Tullus to continue filling the bucket, Brand went back for more linen to add to the pile. He returned to find Tullus watching him with wide eyes and the beginning of comprehension. "That should be enough," he said, indicating the bucket which was nearly filled. Tullus turned off the spigot.

"You're going to threaten to fire the ship?" he asked, his eyes wide.

Brand nodded, and took up the bucket to slop the oil all over his pile of cloth. "It's the only thing I can think of, Tullus, and I apologize to you in advance. If the fire actually starts, we could end up trapped down here. We'd have to go to the forward cargo hatch and try to get through it with the other children, or try to get up on top of some of that stuff and axe our way through the deck." They looked at each other grimly for a moment, both knowing the odds of accomplishing either plan were slim. "Now you go hide with the others."

Tullus shook his head, and hefted the axe. "No, I'll stay out here with you."

"Then go around to the back of the stairs and hide in the shadows. They might try something stupid with a bow. No need to give them two targets. And don't go attacking anyone unless they actually try to attack me. _Then _you can chop their legs out from under them if you like."

"Aye aye, my lord." Irrepressible as always, Tullus shot him a grin as he slipped under the stairs and Brand couldn't help but smile back. Finishing with the bucket, he set it aside, took the lantern down from its hook and stood over the pile of oil-soaked fabric. No sooner had he done so when footsteps were heard on their way down to the second deck. They paused at the top of the stairs.

"Nezam? Are you done yet?" It was Sharhdad's voice. "I've got the sailcloth. Let's drag them up here to wrap them so we don't have to carry the full weight all the way up."

Brand did not respond. After a moment, the sailor called again. "Nezam? Are you down there?" When there was still no answer, Sharhdad said "Raghid, go down there and see what is taking so long. We haven't much time to finish this, and the captain commands that we hasten."

The sailor named Raghid did not seem happy at being given the task. He moved slowly down the stairs, calling Nezam's name and froze when he saw Brand standing at the bottom. His eyes moved swiftly about, taking in the lantern and the oil-soaked cloth and the body of his dead shipmate, then he scrambled back up the stairs.

"Sharhdad, Nezam's _dead_!"

"_What?"_ Cursing, Sharhdad came down the stairs. He wore a short-bladed scimitar and it was ready in his hand. Like Raghid, he stopped in his tracks at the sight of Brand.

"Still wanting a piece of Westman arse, Southron?" Brand asked in Haradric. "Are you prepared to burn for it?" His voice did not sound like his own in his ears-it was harsh and raspy, but that was probably all for the best. It helped to hide the quaver he was trying to suppress. "I already told Nezam what I am going to tell you. He ignored me and he died. I _think_ that you might be wiser. I hope for both our sakes you are! I am Brandmir son of Boromir of Gondor. The Steward of Gondor is my uncle. The Prince of Dol Amroth, that gentleman in the ship closing upon you as we speak, is my great-uncle. He and my cousin Prince Erchirion are going to fall upon you like a storm if you don't do exactly as I say. Get your captain, and _only_ your captain, unless you're so fond of your Sacred Fire that you'd rather burn."

"I _knew _you were more than you appeared to be!" Sharhdad snarled. "You fire the ship and you'll burn with us, boy!"

"I am prepared to do that. Tis better than what awaits me in Umbar or in Khand. You have already tried to kill me once today-I am on borrowed time as it is. I have nothing more to say to you, Sharhdad, and you are wasting precious time-go get your captain!"

Still cursing, the sailor retreated back up the stairs with his companion. Brand waited, the lantern held carefully in his hand. In a very short while, there was a clatter of more footsteps coming down the stairs, and the man who had examined him so casually in the cabin the day before stood before him. The captain looked strained and apprehensive, and that apprehension certainly did not lessen when he took in the tableau before him.

Prince Imrahil had described his late father Boromir to Brand once. "_He was simply confident, most of the time. He had the gift of a good commander, the ability to make a decision and stick to it, not second-guessing himself. He trusted himself, and his men sensed that, so they trusted him as well."_ Brand wondered if the semblance of confidence could become the real thing, or at the very least, work just as well if the fear beneath were not discerned. He suspected he was about to find out. He lifted his head and set his jaw.

"Good afternoon, captain. Did Sharhdad tell you who I am?"

"He did. But I do not believe it. It is well known even in Harad that Boromir of Gondor never took a wife!"

"I am his bastard son."

The captain's face twisted in revulsion. "_And you dare to speak his name?"_

Belatedly, Brand remembered the Haradric prohibition against doing such. "We are not in Harad, captain. Customs are different in Gondor and these are Gondorian waters. That ship behind you-it is swan-prowed, is it not?" The captain nodded. "The ship is the _Foam-flyer_, captained by my cousin Prince Erchirion. I don't suppose you've heard of him?"

"All who sail these waters know of the Admiral," the captain conceded. "And of his witch-vessel, built by the _pairiki._"

"He is looking for me. Bastard though I may be, I am a recognized bastard and made a lord of Gondor by my late father's kin."

"'Tis a pretty tale you spin, boy, to save your skin-making yourself out to be a lordling!" the captain snorted. "Bastards have no honor-why should I believe you?"

He began to ease down the stairs and Brand hefted the lantern threateningly.

"If my tale is not true, then why is the Prince of Dol Amroth on that ship? You yourself have said it is flying the royal standard. And it's headed straight for you! Somehow you were discovered, captain. My kin know that you have me and they want me back-you may believe that or not at your peril." The captain drifted down another step. "But even if you don't believe me, do you _really_ want to _provoke_ a desperate bastard with nothing to lose and no honor?" Lowering the lantern uncomfortably close to the oil-soaked cloth, Brand bared his teeth and snarled. "Get back up those stairs _now_, if you don't want this ship to burn! Even if I am lying and _Foam-flyer _is abroad for some other purpose, if I fire the ship she will come to assist you-the law of the sea demands it!" Erchirion had told him that. The captain retreated hastily back up the stairs, dismayed.

"You have a poor set of choices here, captain," Brand declared. "You can burn or drown or hang. Or you can do as I say. My kinsmen will overtake and board you, because you cannot possibly outrun _Foam-flyer_. It's too late to kill me and dispose of me-they are too close." Brand had no idea if that was in fact the case, but it certainly sounded good. "My cousin Amrothos makes very good spyglasses, and since they know you have me, if they see you pitch anything resembling a body over the side, they'll hang you from your own spars and burn your ship afterwards. Well, they will hang the _crew_. I suspect your own death would be somewhat more…prolonged… at Captain Andrahar's hands. Because if the Prince is on that ship, then the Tiger of Dol Amroth is as well. Did I mention that Captain Andrahar is my sword-master?" Which was not exactly the truth, but Andrahar had explained the importance of the sword-master/pupil relationship in Haradric society and in many ways, it was closest to what he and Brand shared.

The captain actually looked queasy upon hearing that news-Andrahar apparently had quite the reputation amongst his former countrymen. Heartened, Brand continued. "If you attempt to send men down to rush me, I will set the ship on fire. But if you slacken sail, and allow yourself to be overtaken and boarded so that I and those in my charge may be returned to my kinsmen, then I give you my word as a lord of Gondor that you will be spared. For this single time only, captain. It would be ill-advised for you to ever return to Gondorian waters again-your life and ship would be forfeit. But for today, you will still have your life and your ship and your livelihood. What say you?"

Brand saw hope flower in the captain's eyes, and felt it start to burgeon within him as well.

"Your can truly give your word as a lord of Gondor?"

"I can and I do, sir." _For the very first time, and oh, I hope that the Captain and Grandy will hold to it!_

"Will you come up with me then, my lord, to wait?" The respectful address might have told Brand he had won-had he not seen the calculating glint in the captain's eyes.

"And have you use me as a hostage in some ill-advised scheme of your own? I think not, captain. Things will remain as they are until you do as I say and someone in Dol Amroth livery comes down those stairs to get me. Then and _only_ then will I blow the lantern out."

"See that you keep a good grip on it, then!" the Haradrim snapped. Much more confident of a sudden, Brand grinned, realizing that the captain had indeed probably had some plot in mind.

"It's in my best interest to do so," he reminded the man. "Shouldn't you be going above, captain? You have orders to give."

More Haradric curses accompanied the captain as he stomped upstairs. Some of them were new to Brand, and he contemplated for a moment the improvement to his Haradric vocabulary this journey was turning out to be. Tullus came out from his hiding place again, peering up the stairs.

"What happened, my lord?"

"He is going to slacken sail and let them board us. I promised him that he would go free."

Tullus frowned. "After what he did to us? And you? After nearly _killing_ us?"

"I agree, it sits ill with me as well, Tullus. But it was the only coin I had to barter with. Getting you children safely out of here was the most important thing."

The younger boy looked startled. "No, getting _you_ out of here was the most important thing, my lord."

"That's not what I've been taught," Brand sighed. "And enough with the "my lords", Tullus! It's been just Brand all along, and it can stay that way. We've both fought this battle together after all."

Tullus grinned, pleased. "Very well, Brand. What happens now?"

"Now we wait." Taking a firm grip on the lantern, Brand leaned against the wall and situated himself to do just that.

8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8

The sound of water rushing past the hull lessened shortly after the captain gained the upper decks and shouted some orders. There was nothing for a long time, then the muffled sounds of more shouting could be heard, in two different voices. Then, after another pause, there was the thud of wood on wood and the ship rocked with the impact of another large body. Brand nearly lost the lantern then, and gulping, tightened his grip upon it. Some scraping sounds echoed through the hold and a thunderous sound of many booted feet came down from above.

"Marines, or Swan Knights, or both," Brand murmured to Tullus, who was listening with his face alight.

More shouted orders and the movement of men above, then relative silence after all the noise. After a few more minutes had passed, there was a sound of footsteps coming down the stairs above, then pausing at the top of the hold stairs.

"Brandmir? Are you down there?" It was Captain Andrahar's voice, and to Brand's horror, at the very sound of it, his eyes watered up in relief.

"Yes, sir," he managed to choke out as he opened the lantern, blew out the flame and hung it back on its hook. The tip of a scimitar appeared on the stairway, followed by a pair of highly polished, silver spurred boots, and then the rest of the Commander of the Swan Knights followed.

Andrahar's black eyes swept the parts of the hold he could see, and fastened upon Nezam for a moment, widening slightly in surprise.

"Did you do that?" he asked Brand, indicating the corpse with the tip of his blade.

"Yes, sir."

"I… see. We can talk about that later. You are wanted above, my lord." Andrahar's formality bracing him a bit, Brand swallowed hard and nodded.

"Very well, captain. Can you help me with the others?"

Andrahar nodded. "How many?"

"Three. Two boys and a girl."

"That would tally with what we discovered in Dol Amroth," the Armsmaster said.

Brand went over to the two younger children's hiding place and said, "You can come out now, you two. It's all right." With some rustling and complaining and many accusations of mutual poking, the two emerged. Brand lifted them down.

"Are we going home now, Big Boy?" Eiliriel asked.

"We are indeed," Brand assured them, and Celeg gave an excited hop.

"Yay! It's about time!" Eiliriel was regarding Andrahar's dark complexion with some suspicion.

"Is that one of _our_ men?"

"He is indeed. That is Captain Andrahar, commander of the Swan Knights." Tullus' eyes were huge.

"Captain Andrahar himself! My da is never going to believe this!"

"It will get even better yet, Tullus. You'll see." Brand picked up Eiliriel and settled her on his hip. Andrahar sheathed his sword and scooped up Celeg, who, unlike his sister, seemed to have no suspicion of him at all, and the five of them started up the stairs and back into the light.

Brand blinked as the bright autumn afternoon sun hit his eyes coming up out of the hold, and he stumbled slightly, but did not drop Eiliriel, who squeaked when he lurched. The merchantman's deck was awash in blue and silver, and he did not have to look far to find Prince Imrahil, who stood before the captain, regarding him dispassionately. The captain, who was being held by two of Erchirion's brawnier Marines, was protesting volubly in Westron, and when he caught sight of Brand, those protests became even more desperate.

"He gave his word, the young lord did! That we should go free! Ask him! _Ask_ him!"

The Prince turned to Brand, his keen grey eyes taking in the blood, the ordure-and the marks on his throat. "Are you all right?" he asked, his expression softening considerably.

"I am well enough, sir. And v_ery _glad to see you!"

"As we are glad to see you." Imrahil smiled, then sobered. "What exactly did you promise this man, Brandmir?"

"That if he were to let you board him and he returned us safely to you, that you would let him go free this one day only. But that he must never return to Gondorian waters again, on pain of death."

The Prince considered this for a moment, then nodded. "So be it. We will discuss the circumstances that forced you to make such a promise later." He turned back to the captain then, and his voice was suddenly chill as the uttermost depths of the ocean. "Captain Tufayl, you are free to go-as soon as you tell me what happened to the others."

"The others, my lord prince?"

"The _other_ children you took five months ago. The ones that didn't show up in Umbar."

The captain, already pale, grew paler yet.

"Captain!" Imrahil snapped. "You've been discovered with Gondorian children in your hold. You can hardly be _more_ incriminated by telling me where you sold the other ones! Or did you throttle them and throw them over the side as well, for fear of discovery?" The Prince's face was pale now too, but not with fear. It was the face he had worn when hanging the pirates, and Tufayl knew death's face when he saw it. He hastily stammered an answer.

"No, my lord, we did not! They were alive and well when we took them to the far southern ports and sold them. I swear by the Sacred Fire! They went onto a caravan bound for inner Khand."

"Out of our reach then," the Prince murmured softly, half to himself it seemed. Then he turned his terrible eyes onto the captain once more.

"Go free this day, Tufayl-but this one day only. The _only_ reason you are still alive is because of Lord Brandmir, whose sworn word I will not violate. Were it up to me, you and your crew would be hanged to the man for your crimes and your ship and cargo seized here and now, without further trial. And should you ever enter Gondorian waters again, that is _exactly_ what will happen to you! Your ship is known and it will be watched for! _You_ are known and will be watched for! I would suggest you take up a more southerly trade route, captain. _Very _southerly, for you have tried my temper sorely and my wingspread is wider than you might think!"

The marines released the captain, who fell to his knees thanking Imrahil in a incoherent jumble of Haradric and Westron. The Prince, imperiously disdainful, turned his back on the man, preparing to go back to the ship. Andrahar handed Celeg to one of the marines, and automatically moved to cover him; then he got a good look at the marks on Brand's throat in daylight for the first time and stopped.

"Who put those marks on you, Brandmir?" he asked, and the tone of his voice brought the Prince back around in a hurry.

"The man down in the hold."

"The man you killed?" Surprise washed over Imrahil's face.

"Yes. The captain ordered him to throttle us so they could dispose of us over the side before you caught up to them. The captain was at the top of the stairs, speaking in Haradric. He didn't know that I knew what he was saying. When Nezam came down to kill us, I threw the piss-bucket in his face. He was wearing Father's knife. He'd taken it from me when I was captured. I went for it and killed him with it."

Andrahar's expression changed then, to something Brand had never seen before and never wanted to see again. He wondered if it were the captain's battle face. Three swift steps carried him to the captain, who saw him coming and cowered back. Andrahar stooped and seizing him by the throat, lifted him to his feet with just one hand.

"_Andrahar_!" Imrahil's voice cracked with command. "Brand has given his word!"

"I _know_!" Andrahar growled gutturally back. "And I will not foreswear his oath, nor usurp your justice, my lord prince! But I have oaths of my own to make here this day!" He stared into the cringing captain's eyes for a long moment, his gloved hand tightening on the man's throat. Tufayl's face was panicked, his own hands scrabbling to loosen the remorseless grip.

"I know your name, Tufayl," he hissed, utter, chill malevolence in his voice. "And you had better pray that we never meet again. For if we do, that will be your last day living, and it will be a very _long_ day! I Andrahar, son of Adrahil, swear it by the Sacred Fire!" He released the captain, who slumped onto the deck looking absolutely terrified. The other members of the crew looked equally intimidated. Certainly none offered to go to the help of their commander. The children watched this exchange with wide eyes.

Andrahar spun on his heel. "Let us get off of this stinking barge!" he snapped.

"Indeed," the Prince agreed. He smiled reassuringly down at the children. "Come, lads, lass, we'll help you across the rail and onto the _Foam-flyer._"

Eiliriel was looking up at Imrahil's helmet with its inlaid coronet, her expression highly gratified. "See, Big Boy, he's a king, isn't he?"

"Actually, he's a prince, Eiliriel."

"Well, he's smart enough to know he should wear _his_ crown!"

"Oh yes. But only just barely," the Prince informed her, the corner of his mouth twitching suspiciously. The men standing nearby who had heard the exchange laughed. The Marines who'd been holding Tufayl came forward and at Imrahil's direction, took up Celeg and Eiliriel and bore them safely over the rails of the two ships onto _Foam-flyer's _deck. Another one started forward to aid Tullus, but he shook his head. "I can manage," he said, and did so, though his eyes grew even bigger as he looked up onto the quarterdeck and saw Erchirion standing there.

"Come, Brand, let us go home," Imrahil said, and started to lay an arm about Brand's shoulders, but he shrugged out from underneath it.

"I'm filthy, sir." Part of him craved Imrahil's embrace and part of him cringed at the idea of it. The courage or persistence, whatever it was that had driven him through the day's events, was leaking out of him now like he was a leaky bucket. His knees were shaky and he felt twitchy and nervous. Once again, he wanted to throw up or weep or do both, but he was determined not to shame himself before the Prince's men.

"That does not matter to me, Brand…but as you wish." Brand could feel his great-uncle's eyes intent upon him, but Imrahil kept his distance, though he was close enough to lend an arm should Brand require it. Brand turned and started towards _Foam-flyer, _hearing Andrahar giving crisp orders behind him, and managed to swing over the two lashed ship rails featly enough. He sighed in relief as his feet touched _Foam-flyer's _silvery decking, for he was now on Dol Amroth territory once more. Up the deck a way, he spied Hethlin watching the merchant ship intently, her bow nocked but not drawn. She was very obviously on duty, her eyes roaming constantly, looking for any sort of trouble, so he did not hail her.

"What do you need, Brand?" his great-uncle was asking. That was a question that was both simple and impossible to answer, so Brand stuck to the simple.

"Could I…would it be possible for me to wash up, and change into some other clothes?" He wished fervently to be rid of the reek of blood and waste, and the lesser odors of the hold.

"Of course, lad." Imrahil started to move off, but Brand halted him with a hand on his arm.

"Grandy, what you asked the captain…there have been others?"

Imrahil nodded. "Three boys vanished in Dol Amroth five months ago. We suspected that it might be slavers, but had no real proof. It was because of them that we suspected you might have been taken on board a ship. Now let me go see about that bath for you." He went back towards the stern calling up to his second-born son, while Brand waited where he'd been left. The Marines and the small detachment of Swan Knights who'd accompanied Imrahil were already back on board, and the lines lashing the two vessels together were being cut.

"Are you truly all right, lad?" came Andrahar's deep voice and Brand turned a little to see his guardian standing there, face grim.

"I am, sir." A tentative hand was laid gently upon his shoulder, and Brand flinched away, as he had done with Imrahil moments before.

"Sorry, sir. I don't like being touched right now."

Alarm flared in Andrahar's eyes. He started to say something, then thought better of it and nodded abruptly. "Very well then. No one shall lay a hand upon you without your leave."

Up on the quarterdeck the Prince was talking with Erchirion. The captain came down to them and the Prince mounted the stairs in his place.

"Come, Brand," Erchirion said, gesturing towards the door of his cabin. He looked at Andrahar and smiled reassuringly. "I'll see to him, Uncle-he wants to wash up a bit."

"Of course, 'Chiron." Andrahar nodded once more; then, after a last concerned look at Brand, he moved up the deck.

"What about the ship, 'Chiron? Don't you need to be sailing her right now?" Brand looked about the bustling sailors as _Foam-flyer _began to pull away from the Haradrim ship and make the turn back towards Dol Amroth. It was Imrahil's voice calling the orders.

"Father's been itching to take her helm since he came on board. He hasn't had a chance to go to sea in the last two or three years, and he misses it. He'll manage well enough."

Belatedly remembering that along with being a Swan Knight, Imrahil had also captained a warship in his youth, Brand raised no further protests and followed his cousin into Erchirion's cabin.

The room was a spartan one, though attractive. Sunlight streamed in through the beveled glass of the window, which laid spots of color upon the floor. There was a map table, a small desk with a cunning lamp over it, some chairs, a washstand and Erchirion's bunk and sea-chest. He strode to the sea-chest, opened it and began removing clothing.

"Basin's over there, if you need to retch," he said off-handedly, pointing to the washstand and tossing a handful of handkerchiefs onto the bed before digging out a shirt and breeches and smalls.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Father said you killed a man over there. I wept _and _threw up when I killed my first, so I thought you might want to be prepared."

"_You did_?"

"I certainly did, and I was a whole two years older than you are! It happens, Brand-there's no shame in it. I'd be a lot more worried if you didn't feel bad about killing him." He dug for some stockings and added them to the pile, then brought forth a towel and washcloth and some soap. "You're going to sag and bag a bit here and there, but that can't be helped. At least you have a belt."

"So long as I'm clean!" Brand said fervently, and Erchirion grinned.

"We've civilized you right well, haven't we? I quite enjoyed it, by the way-sailing to the rescue of my poor oppressed cousin, only to find you'd gotten loose, killed one of the villains and were threatening to roast the rest of them! That captain couldn't wait to be rid of you!"

"He certainly made an effort to be rid of me." Contemplating his close brush with death, Brand found that he now felt mostly numb when he thought about it. He had fully expected earlier to vomit or break out in tears, but it wasn't happening now, and that might have been at least in part because of Erchirion's response. Erchirion considered himself the least glib and sensitive of Imrahil's three socially adept children (no one considered Amrothos to be socially adept), but his brisk, matter-of-fact attitude sat very well with Brand at present, and was actually calming him. The obvious concern expressed by the Prince and Andrahar had felt almost oppressive.

"Though it may not seem that way to you now, Captain Tufayl _will_ be punished for taking you," his cousin declared. "You didn't make such a bad bargain, Brand. The man will never be able to trade in Gondor again. And he might not even be able to trade in Harad! If I know Father, he'll be bending the ear of the Haradrim ambassador as soon as he gets to Minas Tirith. The Haradrim will not be pleased to find out that one of their merchant captains has been kidnapping Gondorian children, including a member of the royal houses of Ithilien and Dol Amroth, and selling them south in direct violation of our laws!"

"What will they do?"

"I don't know. Andrahar might make a better guess at that. But I do know they're _not_ eager to give Aragorn any excuse to come down there again, given what happened the last time he made port there!" Brand, who had heard the tale of Thorongil at Umbar, smiled despite himself.

A knock at the door announced the arrival of a sailor carrying a pot of hot water. Erchirion directed the filling of the washbasin, then dismissed the man.

"There you go, Brand, wash up! Don't worry about the children-there are plenty out there who will jump at the chance to take care of them. Take as much time as you need-get some rest, would be my suggestion. You look absolutely whipped."

"Thank you, 'Chiron."

"Don't mention it." With one last reassuring smile, Erchirion departed, closing the door behind him. Brand shrugged out of his shirt, and moving to the washstand, set to as best he could. There was no way to wash his hair, so he settled for sponging it with soapy water on the places he could find where it had been soiled, then sponging it once more with clean water. His hands and face received the most attention, but there was enough hot water remaining to achieve a thorough cat bath for his whole body, and he relaxed as the smell of soap replaced the prison-like odor of the merchant ship's hold.

Erchirion's clothes had been laid away with some pleasant smelling herbs in his sea chest, and Brand rolled his soiled ones up in a ball and donned the clean ones most gratefully. The breeches needed belting and the shirt and stockings were a bit baggy, but it hardly mattered. Once clean, he settled himself upon the bunk and waited almost expectantly for the tears to finally come, but they still did not. Even though the day was a pleasant one, he felt oddly chilled and an overwhelming desire for sleep was coming over him, so remembering Erchirion's suggestion he crawled under the covers of the captain's bed. It was reasonably soft, the sheets smelling of the same herbal blend the Erchirion's clothes did. He laid his head upon the pillow. _I'm safe now_, came the welcome thought and almost immediately, sleep found him. He did not dream.


	7. Were you ever going to tell me

A knock at the door roused Brand some hours later. "Lad, I have your supper." It was Andrahar's voice. He pushed himself up onto one elbow.

"Come in, sir." The door opened to reveal Andrahar, who was carrying a mug and a plate from which delicious odors emanated. Brand thought he recognized them.

"How did we get _roast chicken _on a ship?"

"'Chiron brought some along, to be killed the first day out," came the reply, as Andrahar set the food down upon Erchirion's desk. "Imrahil will have his little delicacies, after all. Come and eat. You can't tell me you're not hungry."

A loud growl emanated from Brand's stomach, and he smiled. "I certainly am!" Getting to his feet, he stopped long enough to use the pitcher and washbasin, then sat down at the desk and stared at his meal with some appetite. Andrahar gave him a tentative smile. The Armsmaster had done off his armor, and there was that same odd reticent air about him that he had exhibited during their last ride together, after his confession . Brand started to eat, then paused.

"Will you join me, sir?"

"I've already eaten, lad. Go ahead. I'll come back for the plates in a bit." He started for the door.

A sudden image of Boromir flashed into Brand's head. "_I am here to give you a message to give to Andra. I could never reach him like I could reach Uncle and Faramir, and I don't know if I'll ever have the chance again, so see that you live and get back to him."_

"Sir?" Andrahar stopped.

"Yes, Brand?"

"Could you stay, please? There's something I have to tell you."

The Armsmaster turned and made his way back to Erchirion's bunk, where he seated himself.

"Is this about what happened on the ship? Or about what we discussed before you were captured?"

Brand picked up his cutlery. "It's more about what happened on the ship than anything. But a little bit about the other as well."

"Very well then. But make a start on that food first, while it is still hot."

Brand nodded, and began to eat. Andrahar shifted back on the bunk till he could rest his shoulders and head against the hull of the ship and closed his eyes. He looked weary and lines of stress were graven around his mouth and eyes.

"Were you up all night last night?" Brand asked, after his first few mouthfuls. Andrahar nodded.

"Most of it. I got a little sleep, but not enough. I'll catch up some tonight, if I can get Imrahil to settle."

"Settle?"

"He's not been to sea for a while, and won't be again for quite a bit. He'll be wanting to savor the opportunity."

There was silence for a while, as Brand ate and tried to figure out the best way to relay his father's message to Andrahar. He knew Andrahar to be a very pragmatic and practical person, and did not know how he would receive a purported message from his dead lover. On the other hand, the Haradrim had lived with Imrahil for decades, and was accustomed to the vagaries of the Prince's gift, so perhaps the straightforward approach was best.

"Last night on board the slave ship, I had a dream about my father," he said at last, setting his fork down.

"You did?" Andrahar's eyes were still closed.

"Yes, sir. We were on what looked like the beach at Dol Amroth. He said I'd finally come far enough to find him." He paused for a moment, then said carefully, "I think that it might have been a _family_ dream."

Andrahar opened his eyes to give Brand a quizzical look. "You've not had one of those yet that I know of-just the wave dream. Why would you think it was one of the visions?"

Brand frowned reminiscently. "Because he seemed very real to me but he was not at all like what I had imagined he would be like. He was _rude_!" The captain's eyebrow flicked up at that. "He told me that he'd not come to help me out at all, that he'd come to give a message to you, and that I had better live and escape so that you would get it."

"Well that certainly was rude! What was this message?" Andrahar asked, his voice carefully neutral.

"That Glorfindel was right."

_He will know what it means, _Boromir had told Brand, and the boy, looking at his guardian, knew that Andrahar not only knew what the brief message meant, but that it had shocked him badly. The color ran right out of the Haradrim's face, leaving it a greyish tan, and he sat bolt upright on the bunk.

"Are you all right, sir?"

"Did Imrahil…did Imrahil ever speak to you of Glorfindel, Brandmir?" Andrahar's voice was as shaken as Brand had ever heard it.

"No sir. Who is Glorfindel? What does it mean?"

Andrahar did not answer the questions. "Then there was no way you could have known such a thing!" he murmured. "Which means…" If possible, he became paler yet. "Brandmir, _was he all right_? How did he look? What else did he tell you?"

"He looked just fine, sir," Brand hastened to say. "Like the portrait at Uncle Faramir's house, actually, except that he wasn't wearing armor-just a shirt and breeches and no shoes, like Grandy does when he walks the beach sometimes. And he seemed happy enough. He said he had a…dispensation…because some people had used him badly to get something done. And that he was glad he hadn't married and lived a lie and that he would never regret loving you. He told me to tell you that he loved you as well."

An uncomfortable silence fell over the cabin. Brand looked at his guardian, who looked more disconcerted than shocked now. And decidedly uncomfortable. "Brandmir, I-" he started after a moment, but Brand broke in upon him.

"It's all right, sir. I already knew."

"How?" Andrahar's voice was hoarse as if speaking from a tight throat.

"Right before I left for town, I was at the house looking at your armor. I found the letter in your gambeson. I know I shouldn't have looked, that it was personal, but I thought at first that it was one of those Haradric prayers and I wanted to see if I could read it."

Andrahar still looked grey, and suddenly very old and exhausted as well. Belatedly Brand remembered something that didn't often occur to him, given Andrahar's usual vigor and energy-that the captain was a man of over three score years in age.

"No. You shouldn't have looked." There was a world of weariness in the words.

"I put it back just as I found it. And I do apologize, sir. Whether I thought it was a prayer or not, I was still prying into your personal things and I should not have. But it did answer some questions that had been bothering me. Like why I was at Dol Amroth instead of with my Uncle Faramir."

"You are at Dol Amroth for a number of reasons. That is just one of them." Brand nodded. "Did Boromir say anything else?" The question was quiet enough but there was something in Andrahar's dark eyes, a sort of desperate hunger, that Brand had never seen there before.

"He said to thank Aragorn for repealing that law, for your sake. And he had lots to say about how different folks feel about lovers of men. He said he figured the Dunlenders were probably lovers of men or maybe even cattle, their women were so ugly."

Andrahar blinked quickly a couple of times, then forced a smile. "Well! That _definitely_ sounds like Boromir!" He said nothing more, though Brand thought for a moment that he might. Instead, the Armsmaster lapsed back into silence, his eyes looking blankly past Brand, as if they were fixed on something in the distance outside the ship. Brand took his fork back up and ate a bite, then finding it grown cold and oddly tasteless, gave up on the idea of eating altogether.

"Were you _ever_ going to tell me about him?"

Andrahar nodded, and refocused his attention back on Brand. "When you were sixteen. You may believe me or not as you like. But I thought you should be older before you knew. There are very few who do, Brand, fewer even than know about me and even now it should not be talked of, for the sake of your father's reputation."

"My father's reputation as what? A hero of Gondor?" Brand gave him an exasperated look. "This is all too confusing! _Your_ people have heroes who are lovers of men! Why should who my father slept with make any difference about what he accomplished on the battlefield-if there is nothing _wrong _with being what he was? He told me that in the dream, by the way! You say you are not ashamed of what you are, and then you say things like that. What am I to believe?"

Andrahar did not immediately answer him, taking a few moments to consider his next words. "Brand," he said at last, "those who love their own kind go against the natural order of things. I do not deny that. As I told you before, I do not know whether we were made that way or born so-"

"-Father said he was born that way."

"And your father's history certainly would seem to bear that out. I prefer to think we are born so as well, for some reason that is not immediately apparent, rather than that we are twisted by circumstance in some way. The latter implies that our condition is simply an act of will, that we can change what we are, and I can assure you that is not the case." He ran his fingers through his hair in an oddly distracted manner.

"But however it happens, there are few of us and that is as it should be, lest men and women die out altogether. And while Aragorn might have repealed the law against sodomy, such things are still regarded with disfavor in Gondor. It may take many years for society to accept us, even if the law allows us. It would be best to leave your father's legend as it is for now. Perhaps one day in the future the whole truth of the man may be known."

Brand nodded reluctantly, his face troubled. Andrahar, watching him, spoke again in an even more somber tone.

"Brand, I know that you were not happy to find out about me the other day, and I would imagine that you were even less happy to find out about your father. But I cannot apologize for being what I am, and I will not apologize for loving Boromir."

"He said almost the exact same thing about you. And he told me that I would have to make my mind up about how I felt about him and you sooner or later."

"And have you done so?"

"Not yet, sir. I've been a little busy." Andrahar accepted this with a slow nod.

"I do owe you one apology, Brand. Upon reflection, it occurs to me that I have done you a serious disservice."

"What do you mean?"

"Knowing who you were as I did, it was wrong of me not to tell Elphir that information as soon as we arrived in Dol Amroth, so that he could have relayed it to Faramir and Imrahil. Your uncle could have met you months earlier, before you became so attached to me. He is your father's brother, it was his right to have you and by my actions I robbed him of you, or at the very least of precious time with you. I had no right to do that."

A chill came over Brand. "What are you telling me, sir?"

"I am telling you that, because of this war in Dale, you will be moving up into the palace with your kin when we get back to Dol Amroth in any event. And that I will be away for at least a year, possibly longer. I know that you disliked what you discovered about me. When I return, it will almost be time for you to take up esquire training-if you still desire to do so then. It might be better for both of us if there is a bit more distance between us."

"A bit more distance?" Brand was surprised how much this suggestion hurt, given that he had been contemplating distancing himself from Andrahar on his own.

"Yes." Though the captain's voice was steady, Brand could see something in his eyes that might have been pain. "Take the time while I am gone to get to know Faramir, and to decide about how you feel about all this. You are still my heir-that will _never_ change. Who else would I leave such things to? But your proper place is with your blood kin."

"What if I _want_ to stay with you?" Brand remembered the night before, when the dark idea had occurred to him that perhaps his Dol Amroth family would let him be taken off, relieved to be rid of their bastard kin. It was an idea he had never truly taken seriously, but he also remembered that other idea, held with absolute certainty, that _Andrahar_ at least would never have given him up, would have sought for him and found him, no matter how long it took. Why had he been so sure of that? Was it because Andrahar was a bastard himself, and no matter how much Grandy and the rest of them cared about him, only Andrahar truly understood? It occurred to him now that he had never looked upon Andrahar's rescue of him as that of a man rescuing his catamite, but of a father rescuing his son.

"If you truly decide that is so, and Faramir is willing, then I will be only too happy to continue as your guardian. These last couple of years have been very happy ones for me, Brand, and I thank you for that. But I will abide by whatever you decide."

Brand looked down at his plate, took up his fork and pushed the now totally cool food around listlessly. He could feel Andrahar's eyes intent upon him. When the Captain spoke again, his usual brisk, matter-of-fact manner was back in place.

"Now that we have that settled-what happened down in the hold of the merchant ship today?"

As difficult as the topic was, it was nonetheless a welcome change of subject, and Brand seized upon it eagerly. "It's as I said earlier, sir. The captain saw _Foam-flyer _coming, and didn't want to be caught with Gondorian children on board. But he came down into the hold to tell Nezam what to do and he didn't know I spoke some Haradric. So when Nezam came down to kill us, I was ready for him. I tried to talk him into bringing the captain down to talk to me, but he wouldn't. I told him who I was. I even threatened to curse the ship if he killed me."

"But he didn't listen to you?"

"No. He said if you all were looking for me then he certainly had to kill me. He tried to grab me. I remembered what you said about weapons being all around and that's when I threw the slops bucket at him and went for the knife. He got his hands around my neck and was throttling me and I guess he thought I was too far gone to go for it. But I did, and shoved it into him a couple of times. It went in real easy." Brand grimaced. "I didn't think it would be that easyOr that hard."

Andrahar seemed to know of what he spoke. "We are fragile sacks of bone and blood and meat, when all is said and done," he said calmly. "We can be maimed or die all too easily, and not just by the blade. The world is full of perils besides the damage men do to each other. What happened after that? Did this Nezam die on his own or did you have to finish him?"

Brand swallowed hard. "I had to finish him. He was just lying there, staring at me. I knew I had to do it, but it was the hardest part, because he wasn't trying to hurt me anymore. He just watched me while I cut his throat." He fell silent, folded his arms on the desk and bowed his head over them. Andrahar regarded him dispassionately for a moment.

"So-how do you feel about it now? Being a killer?"

Brand's head snapped up in indignation at Andrahar's casual callousness. "I _hated_ having to do it! I told him who I was and to go get his captain, but he wouldn't! He didn't leave me any choice-he tried to kill me!"

"So you killed him instead. And now you know that you are capable of killing someone, and you don't like learning that about yourself. But had you not done it, Brand, we would not be sitting here having this uncomfortable discussion. Nor would your little friends be safe on deck having their supper. When I called you a killer a moment ago it was a compliment. Sometimes people come to a point in their lives when they have to kill or be killed. More than usual, in these last few years. You did. I did. We are still here. The ones who couldn't, aren't." The Armsmaster pushed himself to his feet and moved to the stern window, staring out at the darkness and the phosphorescent glow of _Foam-flyer's _wake.

"When I was fourteen, my master Ulantoris lent me to a merchant friend of his to sport with for a fortnight," he said quietly. "And by doing so, I knew that my time in his house was done one way or another, for this particular man was a person who enjoyed the infliction of pain as one of his intimate pleasures. To such an extent that his bed partners often did not survive or if they did, were disfigured and crippled. So I knew that I had outgrown any appeal for my master and that I was the most expendable among his slaves. If his friend crippled me, my master would have me killed. If I survived relatively unscathed, he might sell me, or go ahead and geld me. I did not like any of those options, so I made another for myself."

Brand raised his head and looked at his guardian. Andrahar's voice and face were absolutely calm, devoid of any emotion.

"When I was brought to the merchant, I saw the implements of torture laid out by the hearth and knew that I was in grave danger. The man told me to submit to having my hands bound. He undoubtedly thought I would submit, even if I understood my peril, for I was only a slave, was I not? But in that moment I ceased to be a slave. I was young and quick and had been trained in arms in my first household. I went for one of the implements that lay heating upon the hearth and shoved it through him. It was much duller than your dagger, but like you, I found it all too easy. I will remember the look in his eyes, and the sound he made and the hissing of the hot iron and the smell until the day I die. And perhaps after, if there is any sort of judgement and those we send to the afterlife wait to confront us."

"Do you think that they do?" Brand was startled by that idea.

"I do not know." An ironic smile creased Andrahar's face as he turned his back to the window. "If they do, then I suspect that I am in a great deal of trouble." The smile left as quickly as it came. "Though I truly don't believe that. Your dead need not wait until you are dead to confront you-they are with you all the time." Brand did not find that a particularly reassuring thought, and Andrahar seemed to sense it.

"Brand, what you did today will remain with you for the rest of your life. I will not pretend that it will not. And if you become a Swan Knight, you will be doing that many more times, over and over again. Because after all the tradition and nice horses and pretty uniforms are done with, we are dealers of death and we deal it better than most. I don't make pots or thatch roofs or do anything particularly constructive-I kill people."

"But you kill the bad people, the ones that are trying to hurt our folk!" Brand protested.

Andrahar inclined his head. "'Tis true that I kill the 'bad people' as you call them, so that the potters and the thatchers and the rest of them can ply their trade in peace, safe from those who kill to prey upon them. But that makes me no less a killer, and you will be no less a killer either. Your Lady Hethlin, of whom you are so fond, is a very, very good killer."

"She says that people are wolves or hounds or harts and that she is a hound."

"That's another way of putting it. I can tell you that I would have never accepted her in the Swan Knights, no matter what Aragorn or Imrahil wanted, if she had not been well-blooded first, for 'tis against a woman's truer nature to do what she does. There have even been lads who won their knight-probationer's belts who fell in their first battle, because they'd never been blooded and couldn't bring themselves to kill, despite their training." Brand's eyes grew wide at this-it was not something he had ever heard before.

"So in truth, Brand, harsh though it may seem, I am relieved in a way that this happened before you became an esquire. You know the truth of your own nature now, and the truth about us, and can make an informed decision."

"Mother used to tell me that being a soldier was not as glamorous as I thought it was. She bade me remember the harbor after the Corsairs came."

"Your mother is a very wise woman. I thought so when I met her."

"I wish she were here now," Brand muttered almost too low to hear.

"I would imagine that you do," Andrahar said understandingly. "Sometimes a boy needs his mother. Even an older boy."

Brand looked up at him in surprise. The Armsmaster had never struck him as the sort to appreciate motherly affection. "Your mother is dead, isn't she?"

"Yes, she died when I was twelve."

"Do you still miss her?"

"Actually, I do. She was a very good mother to me. And very beautiful. I still remember how the sun looked on her hair." The smile that came over his guardian's face then was one of the softest expressions Brand had ever seen on him. Feeling Brand's eyes upon him, Andrahar shook himself a bit.

"Of course we will be going through Pelargir on the way to Minas Tirith. I am sure Imrahil will not mind if you want to visit your mother and her family, Brand. You did the last time, did you not?"

"Yes. And Grandy told me a while back that I could stop by again-I have some things for her. Goodness, but the little ones must be getting big now!" The thought of seeing his mother and siblings again did to Brand what nothing else in the past couple of days had succeeded in doing, and he felt tears finally starting in his eyes. He bent his head and squeezed them shut. There was a sound of movement and Andrahar's voice came from much closer, across the desk from him.

"Brandmir, something you said earlier, about not wanting to be touched, worried me. Did the men on that ship do anything to you? Were you raped, lad?"

Brand shook his head, his eyes still shut. His voice was suddenly thick with tears. "No. The captain looked at me when I came on board. My teeth and …other things. He pulled my breeches down. They wanted to know how old I was. And they talked about gelding me. But nothing more than that."

"That was _more_ than enough!" Andrahar's words were quiet, but there was anger beneath them and Brand could hear it. "I should have killed that man when I had the chance"

"I wish you could have, sir! But I gave my word. I didn't want to, but I didn't know what else to do."

The next time Andrahar spoke the anger was gone, or at least suppressed. He had apparently realized that he was distressing Brand. "And you acted rightly," he said soothingly. "And because you acted rightly, those three children are safe. _You saved their lives_, Brand. Remember that when memories of this day trouble you." There was another sound of movement, and Brand felt cloth touch his hand. "There's a handkerchief. Shall I leave you alone?" Brand thought about it for a moment. There was in him a desire to throw himself into Andrahar's arms and sob himself out upon the captain's shoulder, but then the memory of the feel of the Tufayl's hands upon him slid into his mind and killed that desire.

"Yes, sir. Please."

Was that a sigh of disappointment he heard? "Very well then. Take all the time alone you need, Brand. We none of us are expecting to see you before the morning." And with a chink of plates and cutlery, Andrahar left the cabin.

Once he had gone, Brand laid his head upon the desk and gave in to the tears. He sobbed until his eyes and nose were swollen near shut, all the while not sure exactly who the tears were for. Were they for the man he had killed? Or the boy he had been before this day? Perhaps at least some of them were for the boy Andrahar had been once upon a time or the father Brand had never known…of a certainty there were things a-plenty in the world to weep about. When there were no more tears left in him, the strange weariness came over him once more, despite his earlier nap. He staggered back over to Erchirion's bunk and fell deeply asleep again almost as soon as he had pulled the coverlet up to his chin.


	8. Don't let me stop you

Brand woke when the morning light began to flood into the stern window the next morning. He got up and took care of his morning business, and had scarcely finished before a knock on the door announced a sailor bringing him a breakfast of bacon and porridge and cider. His appetite had returned, and he did credit to the meal, then ventured forth onto the deck to return the dishes and see how the world was looking.

The sky was overcast, but it was warm for autumn and a stiff breeze bellied the sails. A different sailor appeared to relieve him of his dishes, then vanished down into the hold. Brand cast his eyes about, but did not see Imrahil, Andrahar or Erchirion-Erchirion's first officer was at the helm. But there was a laundry line strung across the deck from mast to quarterdeck, and there were some child-sized clothes pinned securely upon it. Up close to the prow he saw a white-headed figure in Swan Knight dress, sitting upon a coil of rope while three smaller figures clustered about her feet. Smiling, he ventured forward.

Eiliriel was playing with a doll that had been cunningly fashioned out of sailcloth, by one of Erchirion's sailors, Brand guessed. It had a painted face and hair that had been made of unraveled hemp. Tullus was teaching Celeg how to play at dice for fish bones. They were all clad in breeches and shirts that were suspiciously large for them, cinched in with cord belts. Brand looked down at Hethlin and grinned.

"Should you be letting them gamble? Aren't you teaching them bad habits?"

"'Twas not me!" she protested, grinning in turn. "Tullus already knew how, and Erchirion's bosun lent the dice to him, saying every lad should know how to gamble. He wanted to teach him to drink as well, but I _did_ put a stop to that!" Brand laughed, a little surprised to find himself doing so.

"Good morning, Brand," Tullus said, gathering some of Celeg's fish bones to him while the younger boy scowled. He quickly ventured another throw, and had Celeg do the same, then shoved some back, which prevented what looked to be a major tantrum coming on.

"Good morning, Tullus, Celeg." Celeg acknowledged his greeting with a truculent nod, his eyes intent upon the dice.

"Good morning, Big Boy," Eiliriel said complacently. She held up her doll for Brand to inspect. "This is Elfhild. She is a princess of Rohan-see the hair?"

"Her hair is very nice, Eiliriel, and I think Elfhild is a very good name for her."

Eiliriel gave him a sunny smile, pleased. Hethlin made a peculiar, muffled sound. Brand looked down and found that her mouth was pursed suspiciously tight. He remembered that she was good friends with another princess of Rohan and wondered if she had come up with the name and exactly what was running through her head at the moment.

He looked up at the grey and lowering sky. "Is it going to rain, do you think?"

The former Ranger shook her head. "Nay. It spat a little earlier, but it's starting to break up now. Look westward." Brand did so and found that there were indeed breaks in the clouds in that direction, and the sunlight was slanting down in columns to the sea. "Another hour or so, and it'll be as pretty a day as you could wish for. Erchirion said last night we should reach Dol Amroth by early afternoon-maybe by noon, if this wind holds."

Brand looked down at his former fellow captives. "Do you hear that? You'll all be home in time for supper."

Tullus nodded. "We already know that." Suddenly, he gave Brand an imploring look. "Say Brand, would you please finish the story for us? I know it's not night-time, but you were too tired last night and if we don't do it this morning, we won't ever get the chance."

Celeg and Eiliriel promptly chimed in with their pleas as well. Brand looked pleadingly over at Hethlin, more than a little embarrassed at the idea of storytelling in front of an adult audience. He was hoping she would take the hint and get up and depart, but instead she settled more comfortably upon her pile of cable, her eyes twinkling.

"Don't let me stop you. I _like_ stories."

With a resigned sigh, he surrendered to the inevitable and dropped to the deck, the children scooting closer to hear.

"As you know," he began, "when we last left Callon, he was talking to the harp, the one that looked like an elven lady. And she had warned him that he was in the home of a terrible giant, who liked to _eat_ boys whenever he got them, which fortunately wasn't often, given where he lived."

"Did he eat little girls too?" Eiliriel asked, clutching her new doll to her, eyes wide.

"No. Too sweet. Made his teeth hurt," Brand said swiftly, with a wink at her. He heard a soft snicker from Hethlin, but did not deign to take notice. "In any event, Callon was not pleased to hear this news, but he was also curious about the harp. 'How did you come to be here, lady,' he asked politely, 'and how is it that a harp has the power of speech?'"

"'My name is Nimrodel,' the harp said, much pleased by Callon's courtesy, 'and I was wandering in the White Mountains, looking for my beloved Amroth. I had lost my way and gotten onto the far side by mistake when a vile Dunlendish sorcerer found me. He was enchanted by my singing, so he did a mighty spell founded in the dark arts and turned me into a musical instrument, that I might not escape and that he might always have my music by him. And he commanded me to sing for him often. I was singing for him the night the giant came down close to the sorcerer's village hunting. He heard the music and followed it, and that was the last of the sorcerer. For though the sorcerer had powerful magic, that sort of thing really doesn't help when a giant steps on you.'"

The children laughed and Hethlin smiled. Feeling a little more at ease, Brand continued.

"'I have been his captive ever since,' the elf-harp said, 'and oh, how I have wished for rescue! I would not blame you for fleeing now, boy, but we might be able to help one another and profit by it.' At the mention of profit, Callon looked about at all the treasure and wondered if he might not at least fill his pouch with some gems. Even one of them would be enough to end his mother's worries and feed them both for years to come."

"I'd take lots and lots!" Celeg exclaimed, and Tullus and Eiliriel murmured their agreement as well.

"Yes, I've noticed you've a love of coin, Celeg," Brand commented. The remark flew over the Celeg's head, who merely nodded his assent.

"The elf-harp noticed Callon looking at the treasure and said, 'Beware, boy! The giant knows his horde to the very last copper piece. Like a dragon he is about it. The moment you touch it, he will know and be in here fast as anything. But if you agree to carry me from this place, I will sing a slumber upon him and thus it may be that we will both escape.'"

"'Lady, even if you could not aid me, I would not let you linger in this place,' Callon declared. 'Though I am but a common boy, my parents taught me better than that.' Very pleased, Nimrodel advised him to look long before he touched anything. 'For once you take it up, that is when the giant will rouse.' Callon told her of his plan to take only gems and she thought that wise. 'To burden yourself with gold would be foolish-it is a long climb down, and I am no light burden.' But she did suggest that he take a beautiful sword with a golden hilt that lay to one side in the horde. 'For it is a magic blade and very sharp and might be of use before we are done.'"

"Where did the sword come from? Who did it belong to?" Tullus asked. Brand shrugged.

"As to that, that is another tale entirely, and does not come into this one." Hethlin chuckled.

"Good parry, Brand."

Ignoring the supposedly mature portion of his audience, Brand continued.

"So, after looking carefully at the horde, Callon made note in his mind of the larger gems and where they were located, opened his pouch and started to move. The first thing he did was to scramble to the very top of the horde and seize Nimrodel. The moment he did so, a _horrendous_ roar rose in the very next room!

"WHO DARES TO DISTURB MY TREASURE! WHAT ROGUE DARES LAY HANDS UPON WHAT IS MINE!"

Brand spoke very loudly, deepening his voice to what he hoped was a giantish range, ignoring the twinge in his abused throat. It had felt much better than the day before when he began the story, but he could tell he shouldn't do giant speech more than the once. But it was very effective-the children all jumped in a most satisfactory matter, as did a sailor going back towards the stern.

"Poor Callon jumped, he was that startled, and he slipped on the slippery coins and slid all the way to the bottom of the horde. But he kept his hold on Nimrodel, and he fell as chance would have it very close to the sword. He had set the harp on the floor and was belting it on, when a huge dark shape appeared in the doorway."

"The giant?" Celeg gasped.

"Indeed it was! Callon had never seen an uglier face, all covered with warts and hairy moles. The giant's skin was a sickly greenish grey. Reddish-yellow hair sprouted in tufts all over his head and out his ears and  
nose-"

"Yuck!" Eiliriel exclaimed.

"-and his eyes looked reddish-yellow too. He saw Callon and glared at him. Foam from his lips dropped onto the floor and he snarled, "A boy! A fine, fat boy! I'll have roast boy for supper, then grind your bones to make my bread!"

"I don't see how Callon was all that fat," Tullus objected. "You'd said he and his mother hadn't much to eat."

"He wasn't. But it had been a while since the giant had had a boy, and he wasn't very bright, so he didn't remember how a fat boy looked," Brand said swiftly. Hethlin sank her teeth into her lower lip, her eyes alight. He gave her a warning look, and she refrained from commenting. "In any event, he started into the room and Nimrodel began to sing. Her beautiful face was twisted with rage at being held a prisoner for so long and her song was like ice made into melody. The giant staggered, a surprised look on his face, and fell. Even Callon felt sleep stealing over him, though the song was not meant for him, and had to shake himself."

"He needs to run away! Right now! Boys need to _run away_ when they're told to!" Eiliriel said, bouncing up and down in place, and giving her brother a glare. Brand had wondered if she understood enough to hold her brother responsible for their misadventure and it was now obvious that she did.

"Well, Callon couldn't run. He had to be careful, because the giant was laying in the doorway. But since Nimrodel seemed to have the giant sleeping deeply, Callon did take the time to gather a big pocketful of the best gems and large pearls within his reach. Then he took her up once more and then, ever so cautiously, he crept past the giant. There was a bad part where he had to squeeze between the giant's knee and the doorpost, but he managed. Then he pelted off, fast as anything, towards the door."

"And he got away!" Celeg crowed. He had simply ignored his sister's ire.

"Not quite yet," Brand warned. "For you see, the giant had a cat. And being a giant, it was a _giant_ cat! Which meant that Callon was the size of a little mouse to it. It was reddish-yellow, like its master and as bad tempered, and as Callon ran towards the door and freedom, it leapt in front of him and barred the way."

His audience's eyes were gratifyingly wide, Brand noted. "Callon looked to Nimrodel for help, but she was still singing her song and her eyes were wide and fearful. It took him a moment to understand, but he was a bright boy and he soon realized that she was still holding the giant asleep with her song and couldn't help him with the cat."

"Good thing he had that sword," Tullus noted.

"A good thing indeed. And as the cat leapt at him, he laid the harp down and drew it, and more by luck than anything else, sliced deeply into the cat's paw when it made to strike at him! Now the cat was not much pleased by this, to find that the mouse it hunted had claws of its own. So it gave up the battle, and ran off on three legs, yowling furiously and smearing blood everywhere."

"Bad kitty!" Eiliriel said.

Brand nodded. "It was a bad kitty. And very loud. Callon suddenly realized that he could no longer hear Nimrodel's music over the yowling. And when he picked her up, she was no longer singing."

"'RUN, Callon!' she cried. 'I could not overcome the cat's noise. The giant will be waking now!' And sure enough, Callon could hear a puzzled rumble as the giant awoke. He ran, fast as ever he could, sheathing the sword and slinging Nimrodel over his back. And he reached the beanstalk and started down, shinnying as quickly as he could without letting go and falling to his doom. All the times he'd climbed trees as a small boy stood him in good stead that day."

Hethlin looked up suddenly, and smiled in greeting. Brand turned his head to find his great-uncle coming towards them, a cup of something hot cradled in his hands. He looked a bit bleary-eyed, but cheerful enough, and dropped down beside Hethlin's cable coil to look expectantly at Brand.

"Don't let me stop you," he said, just as Hethlin had earlier, bending his head over his cup and taking a sip. Flustered at the prospect of continuing the tale in the presence of such an accomplished storyteller, Brand merely stared at him for a moment. Celeg also gave the Prince the eye, intrigued.

"What's that you're drinking?"

"Bean tea. From Harad."

"Is it good?"

"If you're used to it."

"Would I like it?" There was a greedy gleam in the younger boy's eyes.

Imrahil was unoffended by the cheek. "I don't think so, it's rather bitter. But by all means, give it a try." Celeg took a tiny sip from the cup offered to him and made a face.

"It's nasty!"

"So many people say."

"Why do you drink it then, my lord prince?" Tullus asked cautiously, his eyes wide at his sudden proximity to a legend.

"To wake me up."

"You're not wearing your crown, king," Eiliriel commented.

"I just _told_ you, I'm not awake yet." There was a slightly querulous note in his voice. The little girl patted his leg.

"Oh poor king, do you have trouble waking up?"

Hethlin made a heroic effort to bite back a response, then gave it up and spluttered, "You wouldn't _believe_ how much trouble he has!"

The Prince of Dol Amroth gave her a reproachful look. "All of this frivolous talk about my personal habits is interrupting the story. Be silent, all of you, and let Brand continue."

"Yes. Well…let me see. Where were we?"

"Callon was climbing down the beanstalk and the giant was after him," Tullus supplied helpfully.

"The giant wasn't after him just yet, but you are right, he did eventually figure out what had happened, even though he wasn't very bright. And when he did, he wasn't happy. Roaring in rage, he started down the beanstalk after Callon and even though Callon had a good head start, the giant was so much bigger that he was closing the distance very quickly. But Callon reached the ground while he was still halfway up. Callon was much brighter than the giant and he didn't need Nimrodel crying 'Chop it down! Chop it down!' in his ear to tell him what needed to be done. Out came that bright blade again and Callon laid into the beanstalk with arms tough from years of digging in the garden and chopping wood."

"Did the giant get him?" Eiliriel asked breathlessly.

"No, for the sword was very sharp and it hewed through the beanstalk as if it were a scythe harvesting wheat. The giant was about halfway down when it was chopped all the way through, and his roar of rage and fear as he fell to his death broke windows and crockery for miles around. And because he was a giant, and made of the bones of the earth, when he fell he broke into pieces of stone, which were scattered all over the uplands of Morthond. You can still see them today. One place they even call the Giant's Fingers."

The children looked very impressed, particularly when Imrahil added, "I've ridden past the place. You can see them-the rocks look just like five big fingers."

"Yes," Brand continued. "Fortunately, the beanstalk and the giant missed Callon's house, falling instead in the pastures and fields. In fact, it fell across his unpleasant neighbor's fields, and though Callon compensated him for the trouble the man still had to haul cartloads of rotting beanstalk away for the next few weeks."

"Fairy-tale justice," the Prince of Dol Amroth murmured. "I love it." His bean-tea was almost gone and he looked almost awake as a consequence.

"What happened to Callon and his mother after that?" Tullus prompted.

"Well, Callon went to the nearest town and he changed one of the smallest of his gems for coin, hired a carriage and took his mother and Nimrodel to Minas Tirith. There he changed more gems and bought his mother and himself fine clothing and sought an audience with the King and Queen on their audience day. And since he no longer looked like a farm boy and had a magic harp besides, he was able to get in to see them."

"And the Queen had one of her pretty dresses on," Eiliriel declared contentedly.

"That she did. And they were _both_ wearing their _crowns_." Imrahil bowed his head over his cup once more and a soft snort issued from Hethlin.

"And as things turned out, when the King and Queen found out what had befallen Nimrodel, the Queen was able to send her back to some of her kin in Lorien, and they were able to undo the enchantment that had made her into a harp, though her singing voice remained as sweet as ever. She eventually went West and was reunited with her beloved Amroth once more."

"Yay!" Eiliriel exclaimed. Even at her young age, she was apparently pleased that love had triumphed.

"As for Callon-the King was impressed with him and his bravery. He would be more impressed before Callon was done, for as you well know, Callon had many adventures after this. But for the time being, Callon took his money and his mother and they moved back west, to Belfalas, for they had heard good things of the land and the people there-"

"All the _best_ people living in Belfalas," the Prince interjected, the children nodding in agreement.

"Only the best people that aren't living in _Anorien_," Hethlin retorted with a raised eyebrow. Imrahil grinned his pirate's grin at her. Brand glared at them both, annoyed at the interruption, and they desisted.

"People aside, of a certainty there were fewer large rocks! There he bought himself a large manor and set himself up in fine style, raising white cattle in memory of Fain. And he was a good neighbor and a good friend and the people of Belfalas loved him. And there he lived happily ever after-until his next adventure."

The Prince and Hethlin applauded, and after a moment, the children joined in as well. Brand accepted the accolades with a nod, his cheeks slightly pink.

"That was a really good story, Brand!" Tullus said happily. "I wish we had time to hear another!"

"Unfortunately there is no time for more tales," Imrahil said firmly, coming to Brand's rescue. "I need to speak to Brand right now." He looked down at his lady esquire. "Are you all right keeping these heroes company, Hethlin?"

"Yes, my lord," she said with a smile. "We'll be just fine."

"Good. Brand, if you'll come with me?" Brand got up as well, brushed his breeches off, and followed the Prince.

8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8

The Prince went back towards the stern and into Erchirion's cabin, graciously acknowledging the salutes of Swan Knights and marines and sailors along the way. There Imrahil seated himself at his son's desk, pulled pen and paper to himself and gestured that Brand should use the other chair.

"Though it might be uncomfortable for you to talk about it, Brandmir, I need to know what happened to you, how it was that you came to be taken." Imrahil said.

"What are you doing, sir?" Brand asked, indicating the paper.

"Making notes. I intend to speak to the Haradric ambassador when we get to Minas Tirith and I would like to have my facts straight. So if you could begin at the beginning, when you were taken, that would be very helpful." He took up his pen and gave Brand an expectant look. After a moment, Brand began to recount the tale of his capture and captivity. The part where the slavers had examined him was still difficult to talk about, despite the fact that he'd already told Andrahar about it, but the Prince, sensing this, did not question him further about it and was satisfied with what Brand chose to relate. He similarly glossed over killing Nezam, and Imrahil did not press him about that either, though he could see compassion and understanding in the Prince's grey eyes.

When Brand came to the end of his account, Imrahil laid his notes aside. "Andra told me last night that the two of you had talked, Brand." The Prince's long fingers turned the quill over and over in his hands. "He mentioned a dream you had while captive."

"The one with my father?"

"Yes. I am glad that you passed Boromir's message on to him, strange though that must have seemed to you and I hope that you do not mind that Andra told me. He was a more than a little worried about you and a bit…unsettled, and talking to me calms him down sometimes."

Brand remembered Andrahar's remark about settling Imrahil down and smiled a little. "No sir, I don't mind." He hesitated for a moment, then spoke cautiously. "Do you think it really was my father?"

"I think it very possibly was."

Imrahil's ready assent surprised Brand, and made him suspicious as well.

"Have the dead ever spoken to _you_, Grandy?"

The Prince nodded. "Once. It was Boromir for me as well. He appeared to me soon after he was killed, to say good-bye. He asked me to talk to Andrahar, just as he asked you. And to look after your Uncle Faramir."

"Did he seem like a ghost?"

"No, he seemed like himself, save that he bore the marks of many wounds. Did he appear in that guise to you? Andra didn't really talk about that part."

"No, he wasn't hurt at all. He was dressed like you are when you walk on the beach. And he hugged me before he left. He felt as if he was actually alive."

Imrahil nodded. "He embraced me as well, and it was as if he were there. I could even smell the steel and leather of his armor." He smiled ruefully. "I used to wish that Nimrien would come to me, but she never did. I suspect that you have to have had the Dol Amroth gift in life to speak to those who have it after you are dead."

"I guess. I don't know enough about it myself."

The Prince gave him a sympathetic look. "Did he frighten you, Brandmir?"

"Oh no. Mostly I was annoyed because he didn't seem to care about the trouble I was in. But afterwards, that helped in an odd sort of way. Because if he wasn't worried about it, then perhaps it was because he thought I could get out of it."

"Boromir always knew how best to encourage men-it was one of his greatest gifts." Imrahil smiled sadly. "I am glad you got to meet him, Brandmir, even if it was only in a dream."

"He was nicer towards the end of it. He gave me his blessing and said some nice things. I'm glad I got to meet him too." Somehow, that didn't seem as odd as it might have. Brand sighed, then looked at his great-uncle inquiringly.

"Grandy? May I ask _you_ a question?"

"Of course."

"How did you all find me?"

Imrahil smiled. "Ah! Now it is my turn to tell a story! As you know, I was hearing cases the day of your birthday. I had a very full docket, because people knew I was leaving to go to war. About three in the afternoon, a woman came before me. She was Tullus' mother. His family was still out looking for him because they didn't believe that he'd been drowned. Too good of a swimmer, she told me."

"Tullus said the same to me. He was very offended when I told him that he'd been believed drowned."

"Even the strongest swimmer can be taken by a rip tide, if they don't know what they're about," the Prince commented. "But his mother was adamant in her belief that there had been foul play. T'was not the first time such a thing had happened, she said. That was why her husband had sent her to talk to me instead of having her help search. Three other children had gone missing in the dock district five months previously, she told me. Of course, I was already aware of that."

"Were those the children you were asking the captain about?"

"Yes. They'd never been found, and the constable had claimed they'd all drowned. The dock-folk had not been happy with their constable then, and they were not happy with the idea that the disappearances were starting again."

"It sounds as if the constable wasn't doing his job."

"This particular constable is in fact very close to retirement. But he is actually a very able man and I intentionally put him into a difficult position-with his consent. The truth is that he had been commanded by me to explain the disappearances in that manner. Elphir and Amrothos had investigated the disappearances at the time, suspecting slavers because they'd all been young children. Children are very popular as slaves since they adapt to servitude more successfully than older captives. We had activated our spies down in Umbar, to intercept the children if they'd gone to market there, but found no sign of them. Now, of course, we know why. It is a very great disappointment, to fail my folk in that way, but despite what I told Tufayl, my influence only stretches so far." 

"But Grandy…those people think their children have _died_!"

Imrahil nodded, his expression somber. 

"Since they cannot be retrieved they might as well be dead, Brand. Indeed, one or more of them may have died by now-a slave's life is often a hard one. It is perhaps kinder that their parents believe them dead, mourn them and in time move past that grief, then that they imagine for years the torments their sons may be enduring in a foreign land, hoping for a return that will never come."

Brand frowned. "It seems dishonest, somehow."

"That is because it is. And high-handed of me as well. But though the pretense did not please me, I deemed it necessary for a couple of reasons. I did not want a rumor of slavers bandied about the port because I wished the villains to believe that they were safe and could return, so that I could capture them if possible. I also did not want people taking matters into their own hands and attacking innocent Haradric ships upon mere suspicion. As you know, tempers are still high after the War and it would take little to cause a major riot in the dock district." He took up the quill again and began turning it over and over once more.

"We had documented the ships of foreign registry in port during the first disappearances, so that we would have a record to use should more children vanish. If you recollect, my sons were all hearing court with me yesterday, so that they would be caught up on the current cases and could take over for me. When we had heard the story, Elphir and Amrothos went down to see the harbormaster and the constable, and Erchirion went to finish preparing _Foam-flyer_ for sea in case we had to chase someone. Elphir and Amrothos compared their five-months old list against the ships that were currently in port. There were three Haradric ships that matched. One was in our dry-dock, having storm damage repaired, and was unable to sail at all. One was still in port. And the third had left port shortly after noon."

"I told Andra to have you and all the other pages and castle children found and brought back up to the castle, just to be on the safe side. He was also to take all of Swan Knights and the senior esquires and search the dock and warehouse area for the missing children as well as the ship that was in port. That was done, and the ship in port turned out to be clean. By dark the castle children were all accounted for except for you and when you did not turn up anywhere in the castle or the grounds, we began to worry that you might be missing as well. Your friends were questioned. Gellam's father said he'd seen and spoken to you about noon, and that you had said you were headed towards the point. Gellam himself said he'd gone out that there after his lessons, only to find you weren't there. Andra sent riders out that way as well as down the beach other way. They found no sign of either you or Tullus. The warehouse district and the docks were combed, to no avail. Mistress Alfirin told us she'd fixed you lunch, and that you hadn't looked well when you'd set out. This did nothing to allay our concern, and the rest of the city was searched as well. No Brandmir anywhere."

"While we were searching, Celeg and Eiliriel were reported missing as well. We were almost certain at that point that we were dealing with slavers, and that you might have been taken. Andrahar was frantic as I have rarely seen him, and the rest of us were none too happy either. I decided that we had better take _Foam-flyer_ out in pursuit of the sailed ship, and Andra got together a squad of Swan Knights as an escort. We boarded, and set sail late in the evening, leaving Elphir and Amrothos in charge of continuing the search back at the city."

"And you managed to catch up to us by noon the next day?" Brand was very impressed. "You must have been flying indeed! But how did you know where to look?"

"Well, Elphir is a very good sailor of course, and we had a favorable wind, with all sail cracked on. And _Foam-flyer_ truly is the fastest ship in these waters. Merchant-ships generally hug the coast, but not so close in as to come onto shoals, so it was not very difficult to plot a course that might bring us upon her." Here Imrahil paused and looked a bit hesitant. "I also looked for you," he said at last.

"'Looked for me'?" Brand asked.

"Yes. As you know, I have the dreaming gift. But what you don't know is that unlike most of my house, I've had Elven training to deal with it. My gift is very strong, so strong that it actually imperiled my life and sanity at one point. The training I received was to control it and damp it down to the point that I could function as Prince. That's very difficult to do when you're continuously wandering through other times and places in your head."

Brand stared at his kinsman, astonished. Imrahil always seemed so centered, so sure of himself. That he had to contend with such an arcane thing came as a very great surprise.

"Does that still happen to you?"

"Oh no. It's not been a problem for decades. But the point is, that Elven training did lay a little groundwork for other things. You might recall that a couple of years back I went to Lorien with Lady Hethlin to escort Queen Arwen to her wedding. I can't remember if I've spoken to you about it or not."

"You've mentioned it in passing a time or two, sir, but never really spoke of what happened."

"I was wounded on the way there and because of that injury I fell ill, and had to spend some time in Lorien recovering. While I was there, I had some very interesting conversations with the Lady Galadriel."

"Isn't she the Queen's grandmother?"

"Yes. She is an Elf of immense age and wisdom, and she has a magic mirror she showed to Hethlin and me one night. The mirror could show you the past or the future, though the future, she said, was not fixed. We could either tell her what we wanted to see, or leave the Mirror to work freely on its own. Lady Galadriel was able to command it to show me something that I had very much wanted to see."

"What was that?"

Imrahil smiled. "The Elven kingdoms in the height of their flowering, and the Two Trees themselves."

By now, Brand had had enough history lessons to appreciate the significance of this. "But wasn't that _ages_ ago?"

"Indeed it was, which was why I wanted to see it. Hethlin looked as well, but she left the Mirror free to show her what it would, and I don't think she liked the result much, poor thing. But she has never told me anything about what she saw, so I cannot be sure."

Brand tried to imagine a device which could show you such wonders. _Magic_ was the only thing that could explain it, he decided. Wide-eyed, he looked at his great-uncle. "You were very lucky!"

"Wasn't I just?" Imrahil agreed. "In any event, the Lady and I had several conversations during my stay about my gift and divination in general and she gave me, I can't call it training exactly, I wasn't really feeling well enough for that, it was more like some advice about ways that I might focus and use my gift a-purpose in direst necessity. Which this situation certainly qualified as, to my way of thinking."

"So last night, I sat down in this cabin with a candle and a bowl of sea-water and I tried to find you. Andra was not happy about it in the least-he feared a return of my old trouble, should I try to force my gift in such a way."

"You didn't hurt yourself, did you, Grandy?" Concerned, Brand looked his great-uncle up and down.

The Prince shook his head. "No. Have no fear of that, lad. I got a very bad headache, which I pretty much slept off afterwards, though a bit of it still remains even now. And I never actually saw _you_. But I did see a piece of coastline, a little after the sun had risen to its highest point. And I know this coast well enough to know exactly where that was-Delugond Point. So I gave Erchirion the information and he plotted the swiftest course there. Which was another reason we were able to close with you so quickly."

_Dead men talking to me and Grandy having visions of where to find me-things have been __**very**__ strange the last couple of days_! Brand thought. "It all seems like some sort of fantastic tale to me, sir," he said aloud.

"It is quite the story, isn't it? Now you have one of your own to tell-besides your well-wrought rendition of Callon's tales."

Brand blushed. "I'm nowhere near the story-teller you are, sir."

"I don't know about that. Your audience seemed appreciative enough."

"On the ship it was the only think I could think of to do, to keep them from worrying. Though they did well enough, really. Celeg and Eiliriel didn't fuss all that much, and as for Tullus…he was the rock I leaned on. Did you know that he wants to join the Navy?"

"No, I didn't. Does he really?"

"That, or the Marines, I'm not sure which. But he wants to go to sea in any event." Brand hesitated for a moment, then asked, "I was wondering, sir…do you think you could put a good word in for him with 'Chiron?"

Imrahil mulled this over for a moment, then said, "I could indeed. But I won't. That's your responsibility."

"Mine?"

"Yes. Yours. The person who can speak of Tullus' finer qualities from personal experience."

Seeing Brand's startled expression, the Prince of Dol Amroth smiled. "Don't you remember, Brandmir, that talk about a lord's duties you and I had last month?"

"Which one? We talked a couple of times about it after you showed me the letters."

"The one where I said that a lord's duty to punish wrong-doers and his duty to reward the worthy are equally solemn charges? And that though the first is the lord's burden, the second is his joy?"

Brand remembered Imrahil hanging the pirates and the one seemingly interminable court of justice the Prince had insisted he sit through for educational purposes. Then he remembered the most recent knighting ceremony for the Swan Knights, and the glow of pride and happiness on the Prince's face as he rewarded his followers. _I have the power to make Tullus very happy_!

The biggest smile Imrahil had seen since his rescue came over the boy's face.

"Are we finished, Grandy?"

"I think so. If I think of any more questions to ask you, I will do it later."

Brand jumped to his feet, his usual adolescent energy and eagerness in evidence once more. "Then will you excuse me, sir?"

"Of course."

8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8

He found Tullus having wandered away from the others, watching one of Erchirion's sailors splice a rope. "Trying to learn all you can, are you?"

Tullus grinned up at him, eyes shining. He looked happy as a cat with the catch come in. "Of course! This is _Foam-flyer_, Brand!

"Yes, I've noticed you coveting my cousin's ship," Brand said with an answering grin. "Come with me. There's someone I want you to meet."

Tullus came along with Brand willingly enough-until he saw their destination was the quarterdeck. Then he dug in his heels.

"Brand! I can't! That's the _Admiral_!"

"You'd like to meet him, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, but-"

"Come on, Tullus, meeting him isn't any worse than dealing with a bunch of hostile slavers!"

"Easy for you to say," the younger boy muttered. "He's _your_ cousin!" Brand took his arm, seeking to overcome his reluctance that way, but after a couple of steps Tullus shook him off, muttering, "I'll go to my doom under my own sail, thank you!"

Erchirion, who had seen them coming, had stepped away from his helmsman and was watching their approach with an air of solemnity that was quite spoilt by the twinkle in his eyes. Fortunately, Tullus was too intimidated to notice.

"Prince Erchirion," Brand said formally once they had ascended the steps.

"Lord Brandmir," Erchirion intoned equally formally, though Brand thought he detected the faintest twitch of the lips.

"I would like to introduce to you Tullus son of…oh bother! Tullus, what's your father's name?"

"Randir, sir," Tullus managed to answer while staring awestruck at Erchirion. "Randir the Cooper. Our shop is down on the West Docks."

Erchirion nodded in recognition. "Oh yes! I know the man. Have some of his casks in the hold beneath your feet, in fact. He does good work-never had any of _his_ cooperage spring a leak on me."

Tullus smiled shyly, bolstered and gratified by this praise of his parent. Brand, himself a little flustered by his lack of preparedness in the matter of names, pressed onward.

"My lord prince, Tullus has informed me that he does not wish to follow his father's trade, but would rather go to sea. He helped me during that business with the slavers, and I can tell you that he is courageous in battle and keeps his wits about him when many do not. I could not have attempted my escape without his help and I commend him to you in the hope that he might be able to go to sea with you or some other worthy captain."

"A strong recommendation indeed, Lord Brandmir! I will bear it in mind." Erchirion studied Tullus thoughtfully. "You're a well-grown lad. Know your knots?"

"Aye, sir!" Tullus cast his eye desperately about for any stray cordage upon which he might prove his proficiency but there was none on the ship-shape quarterdeck. Erchirion chuckled.

"Time enough for that later! Have you a head for heights?"

"Aye, sir!"

"And a strong stomach?"

"The best, sir!"

"Well then! I'll be taking _Foam-flyer_ out along the western coast here soon. Since Lord Brandmir speaks so highly of you, I'd be glad to take you on trial as a cabin boy."

Tullus' jaw dropped. "On _this_ ship, sir?"

Erchirion took a moment to look pointedly about his vessel. Brand suspected that it was at least in part so that he would not burst out laughing.

"It appears to be the only one I have… Needless to say, you will need to get your parents' leave. And I will warn you-they may not wish to let you go after your recent adventures."

"Oh sir! _Thank you_, sir! I'm sure I'll be able to get them to give me leave, captain!"

Brand suspected their lives would be a misery until they did. The same thought must have crossed Erchirion's mind, for he smiled rather wryly.

"Very well then. If you two lads don't have any further business with me, then I have a ship to sail."

Brand bowed. "Thank you, cousin, for hearing my petition."

Erchirion inclined his head. "It is always a pleasure to have persons of worth brought to my attention, Lord Brandmir." Tullus bobbed an awkward bow as well, and the two boys retreated back down the stairs. Erchirion watched them go, and his grin flashed suddenly white in the late morning sun.


	9. Was ever a prince so ill used

The night before the departure for Minas Tirith Brand sat bolt upright in bed, his heart pounding. He waited for the sound of a door opening, for Andrahar's deep voice to ask if he were all right, but no one came. At first he thought it was because he'd not cried out, but after a minute or two he realized it was because he was in his room at the palace, rather than Andrahar's house. He had been taken directly there after the _Foam-flyer's _return, and some brawny esquires had delivered the rest of his things from his old room.

The rooms were farther apart here, and the walls thicker. There was no one who would hear his nightmares, either to object to them or offer him comfort.

"_It might be better for both of us if there is a bit more distance between us."_ With his usual efficiency, Andrahar had wasted no time achieving that distance. As Commander and Armsmaster, he had launched immediately back into a very hectic schedule as soon as he had returned from the _Foam-flyer._ Ultimate responsibility for both the preparations for the army traveling out and the education of the esquires remaining behind lay with him. The only time Brand saw him was at meals, and not often even then. And when he did see him, Andrahar had nothing to say to him, other than a civil acknowledgement. The distance between them was unmistakable to the rest of the family, though thus far they seemed reluctant to interfere or comment, probably because of Andrahar's eternal reticence about his personal life.

But Brand missed the Captain, missed their evening conversations, the occasional hug or ruffle of hair, the genuinely warm and pleasant smile he had come to realize over time was something that Andrahar reserved exclusively for the people he loved. There had been no fatherly affection in his life before Andrahar had taken him in, and over the last two years he had grown accustomed to it, blossoming much like a drought-withered plant after spring rain. So he was very dismayed and not a little hurt that Andrahar had been able to set him aside with such apparent ease. That innermost, insecure part of him, scarred by years of trying to win Jacyn's regard, was all too quick to both wail in dismay and turn away in anger.

_Do I mean so little to him after all? _it cried. Brand's more sensible self realized that was not the case at all, that while he himself had been shocked by Andrahar's revelation, Andrahar had in turn been wounded by Brand's reluctance to accept him as a lover of men and as Boromir's lover. And when wounded and thereby weakened, the Captain's instinct would be to make a strategic withdrawal and go on the defensive. Brand understood this, but he still had no idea about how to mend matters between the two of them. And the dream that had awakened him had not helped.

Reaching over to his beside table, he poured himself a cup of water from the pitcher that stood there, and sat sipping it as he endeavored to collect himself.

This had not been the wave dream. Nor had it been another visitation from his father. No, this was something very different, a mélange of kaleidoscopic images, all depicting war in its most awful reality. Swarthy, stocky, armored men wielding great axes fighting Dwarves and Elves and Men, some in the arms of Gondor and Rohan and Dol Amroth. Flights of arrows hissing through the air. Warriors of both sides falling, hideously maimed and dying. The Prince's beautiful stallion going down under the axes, the Captain and Lady Hethlin sliding from their mounts to cover him, then all of them being obscured in a sea of bloody axes rising and falling, rising and falling. And behind and above it all, a single mountain rising lonely and majestic above a plain.

Shaken, Brand shivered. _Surely it was just a nightmare! That has to be all it was. It felt different than when Father visited me._ He was having trouble convincing himself, and after a moment decided that he would not be able to get back to sleep, at least not immediately. The bell pull was close to the bed and he contemplated using it for a moment, to ask for some warm milk and perhaps something to eat, to help him go back to sleep. But it was the middle of the night. Brand, who had served others before coming to Dol Amroth and (aside from having meals prepared for him) had taken care of himself while in Andrahar's house, had never become accustomed to the idea that he had the right to be waited on.

So he got up, threw his robe and slippers on, and slipped out into the hall, having decided to go down to the kitchens, which never slept, and find a bite to eat. But on the way down through the castle, he passed by the door of the library, which was ajar, and noticed a dim light within. Curious, he stuck his head in.

The lamps in the room were unlit. The light was from a single candle, which burned on the desk and the moonlight that poured through the open window. A dark, robed figure stood before the window looking out. Hearing Brand, it turned its head.

"Who's there?" came Prince Imrahil's voice a bit sharply.

"'Tis I, Grandy."

"Brand? What are you doing up at this hour, lad?" All sharpness gone, the voice radiated concern. "We have a long ride to make tomorrow, you know."

Brand stepped into the room. "I know, sir, but I had a bad dream and couldn't get back to sleep. Couldn't you sleep?"

Imrahil gestured him closer. "I suppose I should have, but Ithil on the Sea was too luring."

Joining his kinsman at the window, Brand looked out. The moon was indeed riding high in the heavens, its light silvering the buildings of the town spread out on the hill below and the waves beyond. "It is very beautiful."

The Prince smiled at him. It was an uncharacteristically melancholy smile. "Do you know, this will be the farthest I have ever been from the Sea? Further even than Lorien. Though Aragorn tells me that Dale is close to a very large lake-perhaps there will be swans."

Stricken by the sadness in his great-uncle's voice, Brand asked, "Must you go then, sir, if you don't wish to? Surely you have done enough already? What with the war and all?"

Imrahil ran a hand through his hair. "And who would you send in my place? Elphir, who did as much as I and has another child coming soon? Faramir, who did as much as I and has a new baby? Aragorn has done more than anyone, and he is going and I wish that he were not, for he won't get any babies of his own hundreds of leagues away from the Queen! I would very much like to stay, Brand-but the King requires a second in command, and of us all, I am the most experienced. And the most unencumbered." There was a slightly bitter tone to that last. Brand, who over the last two years had come to know his great-uncle rather well, cast his eyes over his shoulder and spied the brandy bottle and glass on the library table. The Prince's eyes followed his glance, and he smiled wryly.

"Ah. I am discovered."

Daringly, Brand said, "Lady Hethlin does truly like you, sir. I've heard her say so." Imrahil's elegant brow arched up.

"I have never questioned Lady Hethlin's _friendship_, Brandmir." He sighed and turned back to the window for a moment; then, remembering what Brand had said earlier, asked, "You said that you had a bad dream? Do you want to talk about it?"

Brand, remembering the disastrous images in his dream, did not immediately respond. Imrahil, noticing this, focused his attention back upon his great-nephew. "Brandmir? Did you dream of the ship?"

"No, sir." Slowly and with great reluctance, Brand explained. "It was a battle with Easterlings. I guess they were Easterlings-they had axes. And there was this big mountain all by itself. Your horse…got hit and you went down with it. The Captain and Lady Hethlin got off their horses too, to help you. It looked as if you were all…" he stopped, unable to continue or to meet the Prince's eyes.

"I see." There was a momentary silence. Then, briskly- "I hope that you will not be offended if I do not consider myself a doomed man because of your dream, Brand." Brand did look up at that. Imrahil's expression held no fear or dismay, only compassion. "A bad dream is not always a message direct from the Valar to the royal house of Dol Amroth, lad. Sometimes, it's _just_ a bad dream."

"How do you know?"

"Most of the time you do not. Which is why those people who know of the dreaming 'gift' and think of it as such are fools."

"But I saw everything so clearly. The mountain and the Easterlings and all. How did I know what they looked like if I'd never been there?"

"Because you've been sitting at the dinner table for a couple of months now, listening to us talk about the war and the Easterlings and how they fight. We've mentioned the Lonely Mountain more than once. The very name implies a solitary mountain-'tis no wonder you would dream of one. As for the Easterlings-I don't know how you imagined them, but they might actually not look at all like what you dreamed, aside from the axes-which we spoke of many times."

This seemed very sensible. Brand relaxed, feeling a tension he hadn't known existed slide away. The Prince's arm rose, slipped about his shoulders a bit hesitantly; then, feeling no resistance, drew him close. "I think your dream wasn't prophecy, Brand, but worry about us going off to war. It is really quite understandable."

Brand rested his head upon Imrahil's silk-clad shoulder for a moment, feeling the warmth of his great-uncle's skin through the thin fabric. "Amrothos is going with you, and he is not a warrior. Mightn't I as well?"

Long fingers stroked his hair gently. "No, lad. I want you here, safe."

"'Twas not so safe here as all that but a few days ago."

Imrahil acknowledged the hit with a wince. "You make a valid point. But 'Rothos is of age, and he very much wants to meet the Dwarves and talk to their craftsmen and artificers. You are not. And there are more perils to war than the actual battles. We are marching north into the teeth of Winter. Which would not be my choice or Aragorn's, but we have little choice, given when the summons reached us. You don't march an army out on a moment's notice. It will be Spring before we actually see battle, I suspect, but in the meantime, we are going to have to winter over. We may very well lose men to cold and sickness. I do not want you to be among them."

Brand gave him an answering squeeze, then stepped back.

"But you and Lady Hethlin and the Captain are _all_ going, sir. I will be alone here."

Once again the eyebrow flew up. "'Alone?' Are your cousins not to your liking then?"

Brand bowed his head. "I like Cousin Elphir very much, sir, and Cousin Erchirion too-though 'Chiron is often away. But…"

"…But you've grown closer to me and to Lady Hethlin and to Andrahar. And even 'Rothos. It must seem as if it is going to be very lonely here."

Nodding in relief, Brand said, "That's it exactly, sir."

"You need not stay here then, lad, while we are gone. Your uncle would doubtless be glad to have you with him."

"I had considered that, sir. No offense to Cousin Elphir."

"I am sure that Elphir would understand. We are but your cousins when all is said and done. Hardly the same as your uncle. And now that you and Andra have parted company, I can see why the idea of living with Faramir would appeal to you. Would you like me to speak to him on your behalf?"

A swift shake of the head. "That won't be necessary, sir. I don't mind speaking to Uncle Faramir myself. We get along pretty well."

"Faramir is a most agreeable sort," the Prince agreed. He spent a moment in what looked to be an inner debate with himself, then asked, in a much more careful tone of voice, "Is there something you would like me to say to Andra then?"

Brand felt a cold lump congeal in the pit of his stomach. "No, thank you," he said softly. "I don't know what I would have you say."

Imrahil accepted this with a nod, though he looked disappointed for a moment. "Well, if you ever do need my advice or assistance in the matter, I am here." His head tilted slightly, and he gave Brand a smile. "Do you know what I think?" he asked in a determinedly cheerful tone, " I think you need to go back to bed, and it won't happen without something in your stomach. Shall we go to the kitchens?"

"The kitchens were where I was going when I found you, sir," Brand admitted. The Prince clapped his shoulder gently.

"Sensible lad. Take up that candle, will you?"

Brand did as he was bidden, and the two of them set off towards the kitchens. Along the way, he blew it out, for the hall lamps rendered it unnecessary. The light of those lamps showed him that his usually sartorially accomplished kinsman was wearing nothing but the silk robe, which in the light was revealed to be a gorgeous creation patterned in blue and grey waves, over a pair of breeches and a pair of slippers, his hair falling haphazardly upon his shoulders. Brand had never seen Imrahil in such a disheveled state before, and was still trying to recover from the shock when they arrived at what was arguably Dol Amroth's heart.

Lights were ablaze in the kitchen and though all the windows were thrown wide, it was very warm. But just to walk in was to start one's mouth watering, for the early morning baking was in progress. Upon Imrahil's entrance, all activity stopped and the staff turned and bowed to a man, but he gestured them back to work with a casual wave.

"Some milk and some of your fresh-baked for the lad here, if it's not too much trouble."

Gaelwyn, the chief cook's wife, was overseeing the baking, and she gave some quick orders to a couple of the kitchen maids. Imrahil guided Brand over to a table by the window where they were out of the way and they seated themselves, Brand across from his uncle. In short order the maids returned with two mugs of cool milk, plates, a loaf still hot from the oven and a small crock of butter with a knife. The Prince turned and looked at Gaelwyn.

"Just the boy, I said, Mistress." The baker put her hands on her narrow hips and frowned.

"You're never up this late unless you're drinking, Your Highness, and you might think brandy is mother's milk the way you swig it down, but I'll warrant your stomach doesn't! _Eat_ something!"

The Prince's eyebrow winged upward yet again and he stared at his recalcitrant servant for a moment. She was unimpressed, holding his gaze meaningfully and without effort. After a moment, he surrendered, turning back to the food. Tearing the end of the loaf off, he buttered it and took a bite, washing it down with some milk. Turning back around, he said, "There. Are you happy now?"

"It's a start," she snorted, and returned to her work. Imrahil looked at Brand, who had been watching this whole exchange with wide eyes.

"You see how I am served? And under my own roof! Was ever a prince so ill-used?"

Brand, who had seen the concern in Gaelwyn's eyes, and the sad glances from the kitchen help behind Imrahil's back, thought he was actually very well used. And well loved. _They don't want him to leave. They're worried about him. _Aloud, he said demurely, "It truly is a pity, sir."

"Scamp! You are supposed to be my ally, you know." Brand nodded, busily buttering his own piece of the loaf. A smile of pure pleasure came over his face as he bit into the hot, fragrant bread and Imrahil, watching him, smiled as well. The next few minutes were spent without speech, for the Prince, once forced to it, discovered he did have an appetite after all, and the two of them devoured the excellent bread with gusto.

"Sir, what is that scar?" Brand asked eventually, for he had noticed, when the Prince's robe gaped a bit as he was reaching for bread or butter, that there was a white scar high upon his chest, below the collarbone.

"This?" Imrahil traced the silvery mark with a finger. Brand nodded.

"It is a lesson, lad."

"What sort of lesson?"

"That charisma can only carry a commander so far. That sometimes it's helpful to actually have a _plan_. And to know your limits."

"Is there a story that goes with the lesson?"

"But of course," the Prince replied dryly, and needing no other invitation, launched into the tale. "When I was a young man, I went to sea, and eventually I got a ship of my own, which I named _Olwen_ after my mother, who had died a few years before. I fancied myself quite the corsair's bane, let me tell you! Of course Andra went with me, even though he hates the Sea, and he actually became rather good at boarding actions. We began to make a name for ourselves." He paused to take a drink of his milk, then continued.

"One day, we encountered a Corsair ship twice _Olwen's_ size, and with probably three times my crew. Something had been preying upon our merchant ships in the area, and I suspected this vessel was the culprit. Andra counseled that we mark her position and try to find another of our ships in the area to join us, hoping that we could find the Corsair once again when we had done so. But I was determined not to let her get away, and over-ruled him. Three-to-one odds didn't seem so bad to a hot-head captain wanting to bolster his reputation. After all, everyone knew that Gondorian soldiers and sailors and marines were superior." Another pause, as some bread was consumed.

"We attacked the Corsair vessel straight on. I was over the rail first, and Andra was right at my side. It was the most fiercely fought action I had ever been in, and a great many of my men fell. Have you ever seen the scar on Andra's leg?"

"No sir. He's always very particular about taking his baths and such in private."

"The Haradrim are more body modest than we are. In any event, that is the worst wound he has ever taken, and it happened that day. He was wounded by the Corsair captain himself but being Andra, he never faltered and kept fighting-until the moment he fainted onto the deck from loss of blood. I thought that he was dead." The Prince's fingers curled around his cup, stroking it, and he stared down at it reflectively.

"I think perhaps that I might have gone battle-mad then. I don't remember any of the fight after that, you see. I took this wound then, and it was a fairly serious one, but I didn't feel it and it didn't slow me down much-until after the battle. The next thing I remember is my first mate crying to me to put up, that we'd won the day and they wanted to surrender. So I had my glorious victory. There was even a song or two written about it. But it cost me half my crew, and I'll owe the shades of each of those men an apology when I die. I should have been more careful with their lives."

"Father said something about that to me when he visited," Brandmir said, lowering his voice and with one eye upon the kitchen staff to make sure none were near. "That soldiers didn't care who their commander slept with so long as he didn't spend their lives foolishly."

"There's some truth to that. And it is true as well that your father was careful of his men, though I think your Uncle Faramir was even more so. Although that might not be entirely fair to Boromir-Faramir was fighting a different sort of war." The Prince drained his cup, then gave his great-nephew a penetrating look. "You've done the first hard thing, Brand-you've killed. The next hard thing is to be a commander and spend other men's lives."

The melancholy was back, it seemed. Brand was thinking about how best to respond when there came a sudden raucous confusion of young men's voices at the door to the kitchen.

"Go on, oh princess of packers! _You_ ask! They like you in there!"

"They would like you as well, Ciryandil, if you'd spent as much time at kitchen duty as I have!" The voice was Lady Hethlin's. Brand cast a look at his great-uncle, who had started slightly when he heard her and was staring again into his now-empty cup most intently, fingers stroking the outside. "Mistress Gaelwyn, might we have a bite to eat? We've been loading wagons all night."

"Hmmph!" the baker snorted. "Have we not enough to do preparing the regular meals without you bottomless pits showing up in here at all hours?" A chorus of pleas arose, and she continued more softly, "But far be it from me to deprive warriors going off to war. It just so happens I have extra bread coming out of the oven. A little night bird told me I might be seeing you lot." Another chorus arose, this time of cheers. "Here, I'll give you trays with butter and cider. Take them to your dining room."

"Thank you, Mistress Gaelwyn," Hethlin said, her fellow esquires chiming in. "I'll warn you, Ragnor's squad is probably right behind us. He was finishing up when we left."

"We were the first done that the Captain cleared!" someone commented proudly.

"That's because you lucky lot and Ragnor's squad were captained by people who used to be in the _foot_," the former Ranger declared. "Nothing like carrying all of your possessions on your back day after day to teach you how to pack."

"Unlike Sú rion's squad," someone else said, gloating. "They'll probably be re-packing their wagon until dawn. The Captain was tearing strips off them when we left."

Kitchen maids were scuttling, loading trays with hot, fresh loaves and dishes of butter and pitchers of cider. The esquires were milling about, laughing and joking at the kitchen entrance. Brand took another look at his now silent kinsman, then suddenly stood up and waved a hand.

"Lady Hethlin! Over here!"

"_Brandmir_? Whatever are you doing up at this hour?" came her response.

"_Brandmir_! Whatever do you think you are doing?" Imrahil hissed softly. His back was to the esquires, so they were unaware as yet that their lord was among them.

"Oho! The princess has an _admirer_!" "Hethlin, your boyfriend is calling to you!" "Isn't young love _wonderful_?" the esquires chorused.

"Oh sod off, you sons of sea buzzards!" she muttered, and they laughed. Picking up a mug and a piece of bread, she came over to the table. As she came around to Brand's side she noticed that it was the Prince who was seated there and started to stiffen to attention, but Imrahil spoke, soft and swift.

"Just _sit_, Hethlin. I don't want any fuss." She did as bidden, with enough force to almost slop cider from her mug. The Prince eyed her curiously.

"Who did you think was sitting here?"

"I couldn't tell, sir. Master Cuilast perhaps, since Brand was up. I thought he might have gone to him to get a sleeping draught or something."

"I'm a little heavier than Cuilast."

"It was across the room, my lord. And in that robe, it's hard to tell." Hethlin's eyes traveled down to where the Imrahil's bare chest and throat showed through the robe, and her cheeks grew pink, the scar on the right one showing whitely through the blush. Brand looked from her to his great-uncle, pleased to find that the Prince's air of melancholy seemed to have vanished, and there was an amused glint in his eyes.

"How do you feel about your final tests?" he asked casually. "As you know, we'll be testing in Minas Tirith this year. Do you think you are ready?"

Buttering her bread, she nodded. "As ready as I can be. Whether that is enough or not…we'll just have to see."

"I have stayed well out of it, Hethlin. And I won't be among the judges this year, though I usually do have a say in such things. If Andrahar gives you that belt, you needn't ever worry that you didn't win it on your own merits."

"Thank you, sir. I know that my training has inconvenienced you and I am sorry for that."

"Oh, I think the end result will be worth any _minor_ inconvenience," Imrahil said, grinning boyishly. Hethlin, her head bent over her bread, glanced up at him once more, and once more her eyes played over that bare chest. The pink on her cheeks deepened, and the amused glint in Imrahil's eyes deepened to something warmer. The Prince straightened in his seat a little, the grin went from boyish to downright piratical and Brand was put in mind of nothing so much as a black swan on a river, arching his neck and displaying for his chosen mate.

_Three has just become a crowd! _he thought to himself, amused. Aloud he said, "I think I could sleep now, Grandy. That bread was _just_ the thing! Good night, sir. Good night, Lady Hethlin." Scrambling out of his seat, he fled swiftly so that his great-uncle could not think of a reason to call him back.

But Imrahil did not attempt to do so. "Sleep well this time, Brandmir!" he called, a hint of laughter in his voice.

"Brand? Good night!" came Hethlin's almost panicky call as he left, and Brand chuckled to himself.

His bed was most welcoming when he returned, and he was able to go right to sleep. He suffered no more troubling dreams, and the call to rise and prepare to ride came all too soon.


	10. My lord this and my lord that

The inhabitants of Hostler Road in Pelargir were a hard-working lot, and far enough off the main thoroughfares that nothing much of interest ever came into their small neighborhood. So when the troop of beautiful warhorses ridden by warriors clad in Dol Amroth livery turned up their cobbled lane, all meaningful attempts at work ceased. Dogs barked, children shrieked and dashed up and down the road, tradesmen and their wives leaned over their doors or out their windows and gaped, or gathered in feverishly gossiping clusters upon their stoops.

The troop halted in the road before Jacyn Carter's house. There were a dozen of them, all dazzling in their highly polished armor. But it was the two lords whom the troop escorted who were the focus of all eyes, and who would be the fodder for gossip for months to come.

It was impossible that the older man be in Hostler Street, and equally impossible not to know who he was. Only one man in Gondor wore the Swanship arms of Dol Amroth differenced with a crown to match the circlet that confined his raven locks.

"'Tis the Prince!" "'Tis _Imrahil_ himself!" "And young _Brand_!" the murmurs came. The inhabitants of Hostler Street remembered the previous year, when the formerly despised bastard had visited his mother in lordly style. Then he had been accompanied by the swarthy captain with parti-colored hair who walked beside the Prince. The white-haired young man carrying the huge hamper was a new addition.

"A Captain of the Swan Knights last year, the Prince of Dol Amroth this year," said Darulan, the street's resident blacksmith. "Who will the boy bring home with him next year? The Steward? The King himself?"

"Come up a bit in the world, hasn't he?" Torin the saddler commented. "Who would have thought of it?"

8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8

Jacyn Carter was a hard man in a hard trade, and he plied that trade in an old and decadent city. Consequently, he backed down from very little-even Captain Andrahar, who effortlessly intimidated many a hard man. But tea on silver plates, laid on fine white cloths covering his humble kitchen table was apparently enough to cow him-when the man presiding at the head of that table was the supreme lord in Western Gondor.

Brand watched in fascination as his step-father, his usual truculence gone, stared wide-eyed at Prince Imrahil, who was dripping what seemed to be an endless stream of honey into his cup. Jacyn was sitting at the opposite end of the table, with Nellith at his right hand, while Brand was situated at the Prince's right hand. Captain Andrahar and Hethlin stood on alert and on guard at Imrahil's back. Andrahar's expression was imperturbable, but there was interest in Hethlin's manner and an amused twinkle in her eyes, though she kept those eyes properly forward. Her inclusion in this visit had been by her request-she had been very curious about Brand's family. The Commander's inclusion had been by the Prince's insistence-Brand had inadvertently overheard just a bit of that argument, while walking by the door of the Prince's suite in the old King's House in Pelargir. Andrahar had pleaded much undone business of procurement and had suggested Liahan as an escort, but had been overruled.

"You are the one who took responsibility for their son, Andra, and you are coming."

"Brand is more in your care than mine now, my lord. Yours and Elphir's." Brand had sucked in a breath at that, feeling a now-familiar ache beneath his breastbone.

The Prince's voice had been firm. "You are coming, and that is all there is to it. I will hear no more about the matter, Andra."

"As my lord commands."

The acquiescence had been made grudgingly, but once made, there had been no further protests. Brandmir wondered if this wasn't his great-uncle's rather oblique way of throwing the two of them together-Andrahar had certainly managed to successfully avoid his ward all the way to Pelargir. But if that were the Prince's strategy, Brand didn't see what good it would do-while on bodyguard detail, Andrahar was not at liberty to talk to him. Imrahil was not admitting to anything of the sort in any event. Gracious as ever, he presided over the table in the humble abode as if he were in the main hall of Dol Amroth.

"Do have some of the honey-cakes, they're very good," the Prince said, giving the master and mistress of the house his most charming smile. Nellith, like most women, proved susceptible to that smile, and smiling in her turn a little nervously, helped herself to some of the delicacies gracing the table. Jacyn filled his plate as well, though he still regarded Imrahil fearfully, almost as if he expected him to draw sword and pounce. "I apologize for imposing upon you in this way, but Brandmir wanted to see his mother and brothers and sisters, and as we were on our way to Minas Tirith, the opportunity was too good to pass up. Besides," and here his eyes flicked, momentarily frosty, over the carter, "I have heard so much about the two of you that I feel I know you already."

Nellith blushed at the idea of the Prince knowing her at all, but Jacyn caught that moment of disapproval, and his eyes moved accusingly in their turn to Brand, who met his fulminating glance coolly. _Think you that I was the sole bearer of tales, Step-father? Andrahar talked to Morlan, and for all I know, others. Not to mention that the tale of your treatment was writ plain on my face when he met me. And when he finally did tell the Prince about me, he told him everything he knew. _His eyes held his step-father's, held them without the insolent defiance he had used to give the man. Held them with what was, unbeknownst to him, his father's look of confident command until Jacyn, discomfited, bowed his head over his teacup once more.

Imrahil missed nothing of this and a hint of irony seeped into his smile. "Also," he continued pleasantly, "we have some news for you. Brand would have written it, but given that we were on our way here anyway, there was little time lost in simply waiting to tell you in person." He set down his tea cup and folded his hands, and his manner and expression sobered. Jacyn and Nellith noted this and became very attentive.

"As you know," the Prince said, "Lord Boromir never wed. As far as we know, Brandmir is Lord Boromir's only child, acknowledged or otherwise. Myself, Prince Faramir and the King were all in agreement that because of this he should have some sort of status and position. After much discussion, Prince Faramir decided that the most appropriate thing to do would be to give Brandmir the dower lands that had come to him by way of his father's marriage with my late sister Finduilas. The lands are rich and extensive, and the grant is of great enough size that Brandmir would be entitled to a Council seat under our old laws, though the King has final say in such appointments now. Elessar did, however, permit the transfer of the lands, and he has also issued Brandmir a patent of nobility, to give him sufficient status."

Brand's mother gasped, wide-eyed, and his step-father looked as if one of his platter-hoofed dray horses had kicked him between the eyes.

"My lord prince…" Nellith said hesitantly, "are you saying that my son is a _lord_ now?"

Imrahil nodded. "That is exactly what I am saying." In the silence that followed, the sound of Brand's siblings quarreling over cakes upstairs, under the watchful eye of an older neighbor girl, could be clearly heard.

The carter's wife took another moment to absorb this, then smiled feebly at Andrahar over the Prince's right shoulder. "You did well indeed by my son, captain."

Andrahar shrugged. "'Twas little enough of my doing, mistress. All I did was take him to Dol Amroth and tell his tale to the Prince when he returned home."

"And take good care of me until the Prince did come home," Brand put in firmly.

There was a moment's silence, then Andrahar's deep voice responded from behind his back.

"You are kind to say so, Lord Brandmir." The captain's tone was cool and formal as at court. Brand bent his head over his cup for a moment, then looked up to meet his mother's eyes. Nellith looked both puzzled and concerned.

"There is more, Mother," he said. The Prince handed him a very official-looking document, which he reached down to his mother-the table was not so very long after all.

Nellith took it and her look of concern deepened. "You know that I have no letters, Brand."

"'Tis nothing bad, Mother!" he hastened to explain. "It's the deed to a farm, a very fine one, a hundred acres. Mostly good pasture land. On my lands in Belfalas. It's yours, if you want it. Yours and Step-father's."

"A farm? In Belfalas?"

"Yes. I would like you to live closer to me, so I can see you and my brothers and sisters more often. Did you not always use to say that you missed the farm?"

Nellith nodded, her fingers stroking the parchment. "Aye, I did that." She looked at her husband, handing the parchment to him. Jacyn, who was also unlettered, examined the letters and seals with a slight frown.

Brand, seeing his expression, quickly added, "You needn't move there unless you want to-I know that Step-father likes the city. But I wanted you to share in my good fortune."

"Your mother has been saving up most of that money you've been sending her," the carter said. "We were about to buy the house next door and knock a door through. I am a carter, not a farmer. What would I do in Belfalas?"

"The same thing you do in Pelargir," the Prince said. "We have need of carters there. Honest, reliable ones are always in demand. You would not lack for work. I have contracts available myself."

"I could work for you?"

"Yes."

Jacyn found the courage to look him in the eye for a moment, glanced at his wife, let his gaze travel to Brand, then turned his attention back to Imrahil.

"My lord prince, have I your leave to speak with Lord Brandmir alone for a moment?"

The Prince inclined his head in acquiescence. "I have no objection if Brandmir does not."

"Of course," Brand replied and got to his feet. Jacyn bowed deeply to the Prince. As the two of them headed out the back door, Brand heard Imrahil say calmly, "Bide, Andra," and knew that his guardian had attempted to follow. He smiled to himself, heartened as he had not been in days. Andrahar was undoubtedly worried that the carter might fall into his old habits, but Brand was not the least bit concerned. Jacyn Carter was many things, but a fool was not one of them. He would not dare to lay a hand upon Brand given his new status and the company he was keeping.

The alley behind the house had not changed in the last two years. There was still a distinct odor of horse and ancient and not particularly efficient drains. Brand could see a massive head poke curiously out of the first stall in the small barn and reflected upon the fact that Jacyn might have packed his children in five to a room, but he'd always given his teams box stalls, which was hardly the usual thing among carters.

"So-is it to be my lord this and my lord that now?" the carter asked him in an annoyed tone, spinning on his heel to face Brand once they were outside.

"Not when we're alone like this. But you'd better believe the Prince will insist upon it in other company, Step-father."

"And do you think that I can't take care of my own family?"

"I know that you can take care of your family. _I _never went hungry, and there were always clothes on my back, and you didn't care for me in the least. But I've been very, very lucky and fallen into a very good place. What sort of man doesn't share that with his kin?"

"There are plenty who would have just walked away and not looked back."

"I was raised better than that."

"You've not so much love of me that you would want to be doing me favors."

"No, I don't," Brand admitted easily. "But that is my mother in there, and my half-brothers and sisters. I don't forget that." He grinned, with a touch of his old insolence. "You're just along for the ride."

Oddly, that admission seemed to reassure the carter. He snorted, "That's honest enough, at least," and surveyed his stepson curiously. "You've changed, and I don't just mean the clothes. What are they teaching you at that place?"

Brand smiled in rueful reminiscence. "Oh, reading, writing, sums, languages. Horseback riding, sword-play, archery, dancing, courtly manners. Things like that. I've hardly time to turn about most days."

After a bemused moment spent contemplating Brand's schedule, the carter asked, "Do you still want to be a soldier then? Now that you're a lord?"

"I hope to. I shall try at least, when the time comes. I can't become an esquire until I'm sixteen. But I need to be able to protect my people." He stopped speaking, stricken abruptly by the realization that he actually _had _people to protect.

Jacyn, seeing his expression, hooked his broad-backed hands into his belt. "Glad you're not a tanner's apprentice?" The question was dryly put.

"Oh _yes_!" came the instant, fervent reply.

The carter sucked in a breath and looked embarrassed for a moment. "About that business with the tanner…That wasn't _all_ spite, Brand. A bit of it was, to be truthful, and rather more of it was about the money. But if little Jacyn had been old enough, I'd have thought hard about sending him-the place was that good."

"Mother thought it a good place as well, sir. I don't hold it against you."

"That's good of you," Jacyn said with some reluctance. Then, more briskly-"Now-back to business. If we decide to move to this farm of yours, will I have to swear to you for the land?"

Brand blinked. This was something he hadn't considered or discussed with his great-uncle. "I don't know. Grandy didn't say. I wouldn't make you, but he might."

"'Grandy'?"

"The Prince."

"Oh. Right familiar you've gotten with him, haven't you?"

"Of course, seeing as he's my great-uncle."

"I'm still not used to that." The carter looked down at his feet for a moment, then back up at Brand. "Your mother lives for your letters, you know. She really wishes she had lettering, so she could write you back."

Brand nodded. "I do miss her. That is why I thought of this. She always used to talk about her family's farm. And you used to talk about wanting to raise draught horses. You could do that there."

"Did you know she lost a baby in the early spring?"

"No." Alarm chilled Brand. "The messenger only tells me what she tells him, and she never said anything. Is she all right?"

Nellith's husband shrugged. "She wouldn't have worried you with it. Would have kept it from me as well if she could have. Fact of the matter is she was right poorly for a while-it was fairly far along when she lost it. We spent some of your money for a healer, and to get Talwyn in to help with the children. Nellie's better now, but I'm keeping the girl on." Jacyn's brow furrowed. "'Tis true she'd enjoy being out in the country again, and it might help her to be there. I'll take a bit to think on your offer, if that's allowed."

"Of course. The farm is yours until you tell me you don't want it. If you'd rather I got you a bigger place here instead, I'd be willing to do that as well."

The carter nodded. "I'll talk things over with your mother. It is a generous offer and… I thank you for it, lad." That last was a bit forced, but Brand was rather touched that his step-father had even made the attempt. And very surprised in the next moment when Jacyn said, "I met your father once, did you know?"

"No, I didn't! Where?"

The carter ran his hand through his hair. There were a few silver threads there now that hadn't been there when Brand had left Pelargir. "He was down here with a bunch of soldiers, doing that practice warring that they do to keep ready."

"Maneuvers?"

"Aye, that's what it's called. Anyway, they'd a supply train that had not caught up with them, and the men were going to go hungry that night. So Lord Boromir's quartermaster bought more supplies in town, and hired on some carters to take them out to the camp. I was one of them, and I was carrying the beer." He grinned reminiscently. "Should have figured that would be a draw! When we get into camp, we're all very surprised to find the Captain-General himself waiting for us with a big smile on his face. Thanks us for his men he does, says they're that hungry and oh so glad to see us. Then he turns to me and says, 'Broach one of those casks if you will, good carter. I'll inspect the quality and toast your health all at once.' So bless me if he doesn't have someone bring us some tankards, and we all of us carters have a beer with him, him talking to us easy as if he were just normal folks. _That_ was a great man, and don't you forget it, lad! There's plenty of people here who don't. The King is well enough and all, but we remember Lord Boromir."

Brand found himself having to blink a couple of times. "I wish I could have met him," he said, his voice a little rough. His step-father nodded.

"It's a shame it is that he's not here. You do look like him a bit, now that I think upon it." There was an awkward silence for a moment, then Jacyn cleared his throat. "I've spoke my piece, we'd best get back inside. That prince of yours will be waiting." But he didn't move towards the door, and when Brand looked at him in puzzlement, he growled gruffly, "Lords go first, or haven't they taught you that part yet?"

Brand laughed. "I'm picking it up as I go along." And he led his step-father back into the house.

8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8

Only someone who knew Andrahar as well as Brand did could have discerned the slight lessening of tension upon his return, and it warmed the boy's heart to see it. Despite their current differences, Andrahar was apparently still capable of worrying about his former charge.

With matters settled between himself and Jacyn, things became much more relaxed and pleasant. Nellith had become very comfortable with Imrahil in their absence and caught Brand up on all the gossip of the street upon his return. Then, much to Brand's embarrassment, the Prince said, "I have an apology to make to you, mistress, for I fear I let your son come to some harm recently," and proceeded to tell the tale of the slavers.

Prince Imrahil had lost none of his story-telling ability, though Brand hardly recognized the stalwart young hero his great-uncle described, and was somewhat uncomfortable. He glanced up once to find Captain Andrahar still stone-faced, but Lady Hethlin giving him a smile that conveyed complete understanding. His mother's eyes grew wide as the story progressed, and the carter listened with frowning attention. When Imrahil came to the part where Brand killed his would-be murderer, the carter, engrossed in the story, actually thumped the table with his meaty fist, making the dishes jump.

"That's the way of it!" he growled with enthusiasm. "Never met the Southron yet who could stand up to a Pelargir brawler!" A moment later he recollected the company he was keeping and threw a nervous look towards Andrahar, who met his gaze with the same cool, ironical eyebrow which had caused generations of esquires to squirm in shame. He subsided, bending his head over the tea things, and Brand saw the faintest ghost of smile

play about the captain's lips for a moment. Then he felt Brand's eyes upon him and lapsed back into stolidity.

Brand found himself suddenly enveloped in a maternal hug. His mother had risen and made her way to his end of the table. "Oh, my poor boy!" Nellith exclaimed. "It must have been horrible for you! And how brave you were!"

"He was brave indeed," the Prince agreed, and when Nellith had resumed her seat, continued the story through to its conclusion. Brand thought he came off rather too well in it, but Imrahil seemed matter-of-fact about the whole business. Until the end, when he looked across the table to Brand's mother and asked, "Well, mistress, now that you have heard the whole account, what amends might I make you for my lapse in guardianship? And can you find it within yourself to continue to trust me with your son?"

Taken aback, Nellith stammered a bit. "M-m-my lord prince, I do not see that you are at fault at all. How can you be responsible for what some evil men do in your realm?"

"Actually, mistress, I am ultimately responsible for _all_ that goes on in my realm", Imrahil said ruefully. "Which is why I go to considerable trouble to try to stop such things before they happen. In this case, however, I was a bit behind."

Nellith shook her head in disagreement. "No, my lord prince, I do not think you neglectful. As soon as you had missed Brand, you started looking for him, and you went after him in your ship as quick as ever you could. And besides," here she looked her son up and down, and Brand was suddenly keenly aware of the difference between what was his mother's best dress and his own good garb, "how would we teach him the things he needs to know, now that he's a lord? This is no place for lordly folk." Realizing how that must sound, she quickly added, "Not that you're not welcome to come back or even stay if you wish, Brand dear, I didn't mean to make you think…"

It was Brand's turn to rise swiftly and make his way to the opposite end of the table. Embracing his mother, he said, "It is all right, Mother. I understand what you mean. I've lots more to learn there, believe you me!" He stayed there with his nose in her hair for a long moment, breathing in her scent of soap and lavender water, a trigger for all of his earliest memories. The Prince, watching them, smiled.

"Then we will leave matters as they now stand."

8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8

As he had done the previous year, Brand then took all of his brothers and sisters for rides up and down the street, while the Prince chatted amiably with Nellith and Jacyn and his escort looked tolerantly on. The inhabitants of the street watched enviously. Some who had had little enough to do with him when he was the bastard son were all too eager to greet him now, he noticed.

Gaelbereth expressed such enthusiasm for his new horse that he took his mother and step-father aside and asked if they would like his little saddle-mare for her.

"If we decide to move to the farm we will talk about it," his step-father said. "The horse would be easily enough kept then, though I shouldn't like her to be getting ideas above her station."

"If I have anything to say about it, she will have enough of a dowry that she might very well get ideas above her station and have some fine lad agree with her," Brandmir said with a grin. That earned him another kiss from his mother and a grunt from his step-father, who had apparently exhausted his capacity for being agreeable for the day, but was not inclined to argue either.

It was almost full dark when they finally returned to the Vine and Sheaf Inn. Brand suffered an odd feeling of displacement for a moment when he handed his reins to the stable-boy, a lad whom he did not recognize. "Rub him down well, please," he said.

"Of course, my lord," the boy answered swiftly, with a respectful bob of the head, as he himself might once have done.

He turned away to find his great-uncle giving him an understanding look. "Are you all right, lad?"

He nodded. "It just feels strange, coming back here. Stranger than last year, for some reason."

"You are older now. You have been away longer. That is why it feels strange. Would you like to come back to stay?" There was no anxiety or concern in the question, Imrahil merely seemed genuinely curious about his answer.

Brand thought about it for a long moment. He had truly missed his brothers and sisters over the last two years, though the homesickness had been worst during his first days in Dol Amroth. And from time to time he still wished that his mother could be there to console and counsel him. But on the whole…

"No sir. This place feels too…small for me now."

"And the hundred acre farm? Would that be too small?"

Brand thought about that. It would be more of a challenge, but still…no going to sea on ships, no fine horses, none of the daily excitement and color that living in Dol Amroth provided. No lessons to be learned…He struggled with those lessons, 'twas true, but he knew now how valuable the knowledge could prove to be.

"Yes, sir," he said at last. "That would be too small as well. Though sometimes," and here he gestured vaguely down his expensively-clad form, "this 'Lord Brandmir' business seems too _big_ for me!"

The Prince smiled knowingly. "Trust me, lad, 'tis better to have room enough to stretch and grow into, than to be in too small a place! And I have faith that you will do just that!" He laid a fatherly arm across Brand's shoulders. "Come, let's go inside and see what the good innkeeper has laid upon the table for us this evening."


	11. Would Your Majesty care to dance

"Inspection, Brandmir," Prince Imrahil said. The entry hall of the townhouse was filling with blue and silver uniforms, the esquires and their officers all resplendent in their dress blues in preparation for the court that was being held that evening in honor of Imrahil's arrival. The Prince himself cut a properly regal figure in a tunic of silver patterned blue brocade, embroidered at hem and collar and cuffs with silver swans with sapphire eyes, one of his more delicate dress circlets upon his head. In contrast, Prince Amrothos, slouched in a chair with a book in hand as usual, had dressed with total disinterest in the event as was apparent by the unornamented dark blue tunic and black breeches he was wearing.

The Dol Amroth contingent had finally arrived in Minas Tirith after dark the day before. Brand had been allowed to sleep in this day and had accomplished little beyond preparing himself for the evening's function. A bath and shampoo had occurred, then Cuilast had been enlisted in the ongoing fruitless battle to bring Brand's unruly hair under some control. He presented himself to his great-uncle now with some trepidation. His garb was not a cause for concern-he was sure that his new court clothes, selected by Princess Mariel, would meet with the Prince's approval. The tunic was of a grey-green brocade that set off his eyes, the breeches a darker piney green , worn with the new dress shirt Princess Mariel had given him for his birthday, and the sword and sword belt his prince cousins had given him, as well as his father's dagger. No, it was not his clothes that had him worried.

Minas Tirith he had visited before, and had even appeared at court upon the occasion of Faramir's wedding, but manners were at their best during weddings. He had no idea how the flower of Gondor's nobility would treat him during a regular court event.

Imrahil looked him over from head to toes, seemed to sense his unease and gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "You will do just fine, Brand. You look very nice."

"Thank you, sir. I will try to remember my lessons."

The Prince nodded in approval. "I have every confidence that you will. You will need to dance with some ladies this evening, lad. Tirathiel always made her pupils dance at least three dances, and that seems a reasonable number to me. And they need to be strangers-Hethlin or your Aunt Éowyn won't count towards the total, though certainly you may dance with them if you wish."

"Yes, sir."

Imrahil cast his eyes about the room. "Speaking of which, are we all here now? Has anyone seen Esquire Hethlin?"

"I was walking by her room a little while ago, my lord prince," the esquire named Súrion offered, "and heard some cursing. Something about laces, I believe."

"Ah. I see. Well, pressuring her won't make things go any faster - I was wed long enough to know that. We will give her a few more minutes."

But even as the Prince said this, one of the esquires whistled and another hooted in glee. Brand looked towards the stairs and saw Hethlin descending.

She was not clad in dress blues, but rather in a gown of grey silk. There appeared to be a golden yellow cross-thread in it, so that it shimmered changeably, grey-gold. A repeating design of eagles with their wings upraised around a star was wrought in silver thread about the neck and hem. Her white hair fell loose like silver floss upon her shoulders, confined by a simple circlet with a star at the front. A necklace of amber beads and a matching girdle of silk and silver and more amber beads completed the ensemble.

The dress laced up the front, flowing like water over curves before belling out gracefully from the hips. It definitely flattered its wearer, whose color was high enough that the scar could be seen on her cheek.

"I beg your pardon, my lord prince," she murmured, giving Imrahil an apologetic curtsey before turning to glare at her fellow esquires, who were all whooping and whistling now. "The cursed laces got all snarled up."

"That is quite all right, Hethlin," Imrahil assured her, his eyes glowing. "You look lovely." He turned his attention from her and raised his voice. "Esquires. Hear the words of your commander."

And indeed, there was Andrahar of a sudden, in perfectly pristine dress blues. Brand had not seen him come in. The esquires all straightened to attention. He gave them all, including Hethlin, his own assessing look-over; then, finding them adequate, spoke.

"In one week's time, we will be meeting some of Gondor's finest younger officers in tournament. I do not want to hear of any skirmishing before then! The court this evening is not about you, gentlemen-it is to honor your lord. You _will_ do him credit with your behavior! There will be no drunkenness and no brawling. We will resume our usual training schedule in the morning-bear that in mind when you are contemplating making a late night of things! And romance the young ladies if you must, but remember this - there will be many widows there tonight as well, women whose husbands spent their lives to save Gondor. I do not want to see any of those ladies, no matter their age, who want to dance lacking for partners when there are Swan Knights, even half-baked ones, present. Am I understood?"

"Yes, SIR!" came the chorus of assent. He nodded abruptly. "Very well, then. My lord prince, are you ready?"

"I am."

"Then let us be off."

Three of the esquires-Ciryandil, Ragnor and Tirion-immediately stepped forward to volunteer to escort Hethlin. She looked both surprised and flustered at the attention. A dispute seemed imminent until the Prince, after an exchange of meaningful looks with his oath-brother, settled matters.

"AMROTHOS!" Imrahil barked at his youngest son, who had been oblivious to all this. Amrothos looked up.

"Yes, Father?"

"You will be so kind as to escort Esquire Hethlin. _Now_, please!"

Amrothos looked irritated for a brief moment; then, seeing his parent's expression grow thunderous, he sighed in resignation. Sliding his book into his tunic, he rose to his feet and sauntered slowly over to Hethlin, who was watching his reluctant progress with amusement rather than offense.

"A good one, is it?" she asked, her Anorien accent noticeably heavy for a moment.

Dol Amroth's youngest prince nodded. "It just came into the booksellers today, and I've been waiting forever for it. Alkhayam's _Treatise on Celestial Mechanics._ In the original Haradric, of course."

"Of course," Hethlin echoed, her eyes dancing. "I promise I'll turn you loose as soon as we get there, my lord prince."

Amrothos gave her a look of genuine gratitude as he offered her his arm. "_Thank you_, my lady! You are a princess among esquires!"

For some reason, that remark made Hethlin blush again.

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The herald had announced the arrival of the Prince of Dol Amroth, Prince Amrothos, Captain Andrahar and the esquires. True to her word, Hethlin immediately released Amrothos, who vanished into the crowd in search of some cranny where he could read undisturbed. Imrahil sighed. Brand looked about, his eyes goggling. The Court of the Fountain had been transformed, hung with beautiful lanterns that would be lit when it grew dark and filled with gaily dressed men and women. It was as big a throng as had been at his Uncle Faramir's wedding and he didn't even know how to begin about finding a dancing partner.

The Prince gestured gracefully towards the right side of the expanse. "You might start over there. See the young lady in the red dress? She's just your age and she is Lord Liahan's youngest sister. So she probably won't bite." Brand looked toward where he had indicated and spotted a short figure in a bright red dress. He hesitated, and Imrahil gave him a gentle shove.

"Go on," he was urged.

Brand made his was slowly around the perimeter of the courtyard, watching the dancers to avoid having to confront his own fate for a few moments more. The dance they were dancing was very intricate and patterned and probably barely within his level of expertise. Lady Tirathiel had started his instruction in dance, but with her departure to Rohan with Queen Lothiriel, it had continued under Imrahil's court dance-master, a rather effete, waspish gentleman who nonetheless knew his trade. After almost two years worth of instruction, Brand knew he could dance any of the simpler dances that would be done here this night.

Eventually he arrived before the girl in the red dress, who was his age or perhaps a year younger. Liahan's last sister had none of his solemn handsomeness-she was in the throes of the worst part of early adolescence, inclined towards lank dark hair, spots and a bit of pudge about the middle. Brand knew that Liahan's family was blessed with an abundance of children and cursed with a dearth of money, so it did not particularly surprise him that the young lady's dress looked as if it might have seen use in its time for one or more of her older sisters. There was some wear along the side seams that indicated it had probably been taken up and let out a couple of times. _It may be that being a bastard is not the only thing that could make life difficult at court, _he mused. Aloud, he asked, "My lady, may I have this dance?"

A fulminating grey-blue gaze met his. "Before I say yay or nay, who put you up to it?" the girl asked.

"Tathar!" the lady at her side exclaimed, shocked. "Apologize to the young man!"

Tathar folded her arms and glowered. "Shan't, Nelladel! Not since I was the butt of that joke at winter court. Who sent you, sirrah?"

Taken aback, Brandmir decided honesty was the best policy. "The Prince of Dol Amroth, my lady, who commands that I dance with three ladies I do not know, which is a frightening prospect. I have little experience in such things, and he told me you were a young lady who would be patient with my shortcomings and not bite." He essayed a tentative smile. Tathar seemed to soften slightly, but her eyes were still narrowed in suspicion.

"Prince Imrahil hasn't seen Tathar since she was a very little girl, or he would not have suggested anything of the kind," Nelladel said grimly. Brand suspected he was looking at one of Liahan's older sisters. She looked to be a couple of years older than Liahan, and had a harried look upon her face. Remembering that Liahan's mother had died during the Ring War, he realized that Nelladel was probably having to take her place with the younger children. "Such a hoyden as she has become!" She gave him a kind smile, and at that moment, her resemblance to her quiet brother was very clear. "You are Brandmir, are you not?"

"Yes, my lady."

A hint of interest came over Tathar's face. "The bastard?" she asked. Her sister blanched.

"That will be _enough_, Tathar! Honestly, your manners are fit only for a barn!"

"I'd rather be in the barn at home than here!"

"Then I apologize for troubling your ladyship," Brand said quietly. He bowed and was turning to depart when Tathar laid her hand upon his arm. Turning back, he was met by an apologetic smile that did much to make up for her appearance.

"I am sorry, Lord Brandmir. If you can put up with my bad temper, I would be only too happy to dance with you."

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The next dance called was one that was relatively simple, so Brand took her arm and they stepped out onto the floor. Tathar looked up at him.

"I apologize again for my behavior, Lord Brandmir. But there was a set of young lordlings who thought at last winter court it would be fun to dare one another to kiss me. Like kissing a toad, they said, because of the spots. So I've become rather wary about young men-particularly when they are as handsome as you are." Brand blinked in startlement, but Tathar did not notice and continued on as if she'd said nothing extraordinary. "Though if Prince Imrahil sent you, then all is well. He would never send anyone vile. I could hardly expect someone to want to dance with me on their own, and I do actually like to dance."

"Then I am very glad to oblige you, my lady. The Prince has requested that I dance with three different ladies, but once I've done that I would be glad to come back and dance with you again."

"That's very kind of you, Lord Brandmir."

Brand shook his head and laughed. "That feels so strange!"

"What does?"

"People calling me 'lord'! I've only been one for a couple of months."

"Really? I thought you'd been one all along. Since they found you, I mean."

"No. It only officially happened right before my birthday. Prince Imrahil showed me all the documents-they were really beautiful, written in colors and gold, and they had all these seals and ribbons on them."

Tathar gave him an envious look. "I should have liked to have seen them. I can't do embroidery at all, but I write a fair hand. And I like to illuminate."

"Those fancy letters and things?" Brand asked, impressed. "That must be hard!"

Liahan's sister managed to shrug dismissively in the course of the dance. "There are tricks to it, like anything else. I'll do you an initial, if you like. What pictures would you like around it?"

"Can you do horses?"

Tathar laughed. "Horses are what I am very _best_ at! I would be glad to do you an initial with horses in it."

"I look forward to seeing it, my lady."

"Have you got a horse of your own?"

"Yes. His name is Swift."

"What color is he?"

"He's silver-grey. War-horse bred, but he was too light. He's very fast-a real racer."

"He sounds lovely! You must tell me all about him!"

Brand was all too eager to describe his new horse, and the remainder of the dance passed pleasantly enough in a discussion of equine matters. He found out that Tathar had had an aged pony; but like himself, had outgrown the animal a year ago and did not currently have a mount.

"We really can't afford a riding horse just for me," she said with a bit of a grimace. "Nella doesn't like to ride, and we've my brothers' warhorses to feed. Thank the Valar that the Prince horses Liahan-that's a big help. And a bigger thanks to them that Lian's not going off to war again!"

"I think you actually have Captain Andrahar to thank for that, my lady. He is the one who appointed your brother Armsmaster in his absence."

"Then the Valar bless Captain Andrahar!" Brand chuckled at the thought of Andrahar's unappreciative reception of such a benison and Tathar gave him an inquisitive look.

"Are _you _going North?"

Another of those intermittent pangs struck Brand. _I asked him to let me come with him, right before things fell all apart. I really wanted to. _He realized a couple of moments later that he had not answered her question, and glanced down at Tathar, who was giving him a concerned look.

"I am sorry if I asked you something that troubled you, Lord Brandmir."

"You didn't," he assured her. "Though it is true I was wanting to see the North, and I was disappointed when the Prince wouldn't let me come. Perhaps I will get another chance when I am older. Are you going to be in Minas Tirith long?"

"A couple of months at least. Father needs to be here for the Council sessions that they're going to have before the King leaves. Why?"

"I thinkthe Prince keeps some nice saddle-horses here. I'll ask and find out. If he has something suitable, perhaps we could go riding sometime."

The transfiguring smile lit Tathar's face once more. "Oh, do you think so? I would enjoy that so much! I've not been able to ride in ever so long!"

The dance was winding down to its final measures. Brand made his final bow to Tathar, who curtseyed back, and he took her back to where Nelladel was waiting.

Bowing over her hand, he said, "I will ask, my lady, and find out. And I'll be back to dance some more later."

"I look forward to it, Lord Brandmir," Tathar said with a demure smile. He caught Nelladel giving her younger sister an astonished look as he departed.

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Having gotten the first of his required dances under his belt, Brand went in search of his uncle, only to find that he was off to the side of the dancing area where throne-like chairs had been set for the King and Queen. The Queen was out dancing with Captain Andrahar, but Aragorn was there, speaking with both Faramir and Prince Imrahil. Feeling as if he should not intrude, he started to turn away, but Faramir saw him.

"Brandmir! Come here, lad!"

Brand did so, a bit reluctantly because of the exalted company, and found himself folded into his Uncle's embrace, which he gladly returned. As soon as Faramir released him he made his bow to the King.

"Your Majesty."

"Lord Brandmir," Aragorn acknowledged, giving him a warm smile. "You've grown quite a bit since last I saw you."

"So the tailors say, sir," slipped out before he could think, but the King only laughed.

"Forthright as your father!" he said. "Did you come seeking me, your uncle or your great-uncle?"

"My uncle, Your Majesty," Brand managed, stunned that the King felt that Brand had the right to seek him out. _Could he have meant what he said last year about us becoming friends?_ His mind refused to consider that prospect.

"Very well then, Faramir, by all means get reacquainted with your nephew," the King said, agreeably enough. "We'll talk again later. Imrahil, Húrin had some questions about the rules for the tournament. Why don't we go find him?" Aragorn rose to his feet and together he and Imrahil strolled off talking, while casually acknowledging the salutes of the subjects they passed. Faramir gave Brand a searching look.

"Is something the matter, Brandmir?"

"I need to speak to you about something, sir. In private. Whenever you have the time, of course-I know you must be very busy."

The Steward of Gondor smiled his grave, beautiful smile. "I am never so busy that I cannot make time for you, lad. Is this about what happened on the ship? Uncle wrote me an account which arrived here a couple of days before you did. I was appalled at what happened to you. And very proud of how you conducted yourself. Your father would have been proud as well."

Brand felt the heat rise into his cheeks and studied the toes of his boots for a few moments. "Thank you, sir. It is about that, a little, but also about something that happened before then, and something that has been going on since."

"I see. This sounds serious."

"It is, in a way. But not so serious that it cannot wait a day or two if it needs to, sir."

"Nonsense. We'll talk tomorrow. I will find you-it will be easier that way. Does that suit you?"

"It does, sir. Thank you."

"I am honored you wish to confide in me." The grave smile turned wry. "Is Uncle making you dance?"

Brand groaned. "Yes, sir. Three dances with strange ladies."

"_Strange_ ladies?" The Steward's eyes were twinkling.

Face reddening, Brand hastily clarified. "Ladies I haven't met before, that is. I've done one so far."

Faramir laughed out loud, then discreetly indicated a woman a little older than himself in a plum-colored gown a little way down the same side as they were. "That lady is Lady Merilin. She is actually my cousin-father's sister's daughter-so that makes her your second cousin. She is very nice. You might try her."

"She won't mind my being…a bastard, will she?"

"No. I have told her about you and she had mentioned that she would like to meet you."

"I don't know that kin count as strangers, sir."

"Kin you have never met do," the Steward said firmly. "I think it is harder to meet kin you don't know than strangers. And you can always tell Uncle that it was my idea."

Seeing a couple of lords hovering nearby and figuring that he had taken up enough of his uncle's time, Brand said, "Thank you very much, sir. I will go ask her. If I don't see you again before tomorrow, I hope you enjoy the evening."

Faramir smiled at the courtesy. "I suspect you might see me once or twice more-on the dance floor at least!" He looked at the waiting lords and sighed. " I _must_ find the time to go find my lady and see if she would like to take a turn. I fear that I have been neglecting her for state business." He gave Brand a friendly nod and went to speak to the lords.

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Lady Merilin was a handsome woman rather than beautiful-a bit rawboned in stature and she had a somewhat unfortunately prominent nose. But as his uncle had said, she was very pleasant when Brand introduced himself.

"So you're Cousin Boromir's son! Let me have a look at you!" She surveyed him up and down for a moment, then nodded. "You're much like your father at that age. Always teasing and tormenting us girls, he was. You don't do that too, do you?" She gave him a mock-stern look, but her eyes were still smiling.

"No, my lady."

"You certainly seem well-spoken! Of course lad, I would be glad to dance with you." Brand bowed and offered her his arm, but despite the words, she shook her head.

"Not this one. Listen to the music. It's complicated and full of lifts and I don't think you want to be lifting a lady as large as yourself! We will do the next if it is suitable."

Brand nodded, and she continued to chat with him in a friendly manner about his life at Dol Amroth and his other, unmet cousins as they watched the dancers. Suddenly, she tsssked disapprovingly and he looked to where she was looking to see that his great-uncle had no problem at all doing the complicated dance full of lifts, if that dance gave him the opportunity to put his hands upon Hethlin. Her grey-gold skirts were flying when he swept her skyward and she was flushed and laughing. Imrahil was grinning his pirate's grin as well.

"It would be a great thing if some here would just _act their age_," Lady Merilin sniffed.

"I think that the Prince knows Lady Hethlin likes the fast dances," Brand said in defense of his great-uncle. "And he _should_ dance with her at least once-she was put in his care by the King."

Merilin gave him a knowing look. "There's a rumor going 'round that Imrahil would like to give that girl more care than the King actually asked for. I do not see the appeal myself-she is not at all like his late wife and there are questions about her sojourn in the Rangers. I've been meaning to ask Cousin Faramir about that myself. But 'tis true the man has no need of more heirs, and that he has no-one to please but himself at this point. I simply worry that it would be fair to the girl. He is too old for her and if he truly cares for her, then he should be seeking out a good match for her, someone closer to her own age. Like you for instance."

"_Me?_" Brand squeaked. Lady Merilin nodded.

"It would be a good match. Both you and this Lady Hethlin come of good blood, but there are…irregularities on both sides. Both of you have some property, that would be much more significant were it combined, and in all likelihood more profitably managed as well. Do you dislike the lady?"

Still boggled, Brand protested, "No! She has been very kind to me, she teaches me archery. But I am too young for her. I am just turned fourteen, and she is twenty-three!"

His cousin did not seem to think that much of a consideration. "You are younger than she, 'tis true, but she is of the Northern blood and will live longer. You _need _to be younger! And in ten years you will be twenty-four and she thirty-three. Such distances close with time. At least distances like nine years do." She gave the Prince and his partner another disapproving look. "Two score and more? Neither of them would live _that_ long."

"The King promised Lady Hethlin that she could marry to suit herself. And I really don't think I suit her, my lady."

Lady Merilin snorted. "You may not suit her now, well-favored though you be, but put four or five years' growth on you and I will wager she might see things differently! The men of our house have always drawn women like bees to honey. Valar's sake, there were three or four of the shameless hussies around Faramir when I came in, and he a married man!"

Brand blushed at the very idea of Hethlin liking him in that way, thoroughly discomfited. Seeing this, Lady Merilin took mercy upon him.

"There lad, the music for the next dance is starting up, and as I thought, it is most suitable. Lead me out, will you?"

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Upon completion of their dance, Lady Merilin had wished him a pleasant farewell. With two of his required dances done, Brand decided that he might as well finish the task, so that he might relax for the rest of the evening. His uncle must not have won his way free yet, for Brand spied his aunt Éowyn by herself, speaking to a number of likely-looking ladies across the courtyard, and headed in that direction. But when he was about halfway there, he saw her suddenly scowl, seize the wine glass a lady in a yellow dress was holding, spill the red wine deliberately all down the front of that dress and storm off.

Not knowing exactly what the cause of her ire was, and not sure of his reception if he were to walk up after his kinswoman had just behaved in such a manner, he cast his eyes about and spotted another cluster of young ladies a little further on. They were younger than the first group who had been with Éowyn, and as he watched a couple of the esquires carried two of them off to join in the dance that was just starting up. That left a third lady, gowned in lilac silk, who stood tapping her foot in a way that indicated to Brand that she might like to dance. So he made his way towards her. A swift bit of movement drew his eye and he saw Lady Hethlin, a bit further down this same side of the courtyard, suddenly start towards him, discarding any pretense of ladylike behavior by moving in a hurry, kicking her skirts out before her with the long, swinging strides of an infantryman. People were getting out of her way, and watching her passage with curiosity.

_I will dance with her next! _Brand told himself, looking forward to it as a reward after completing his chore of courtesy. _And then again with Lady Tathar. But this lady first! _He advanced and made a careful bow.

"Would you care to dance, my lady?" he asked. To his surprise, the lady turned affronted eyes upon him.

"Do you have any idea who you are talking to, _stable boy_?"

Confounded, Brand gathered his courage and said politely, "No, my lady, I do not."

"That is hardly surprising, given your origins! _I_ am Jerulas of Belfalas, of one of the oldest and finest families in western Gondor! I do _not_ dance with boys, and I _certainly_ don't dance with bastards! Whatever Prince Imrahil was thinking, to try to foist _you_ upon civilized society is beyond belief! The man's wits are turning!"

Taken aback at her hostility, and unable to determine how he should respond, Brand stood there frozen for a moment. Suddenly Lady Hethlin was standing beside him.

"_I'll_ dance with you, Brand," she said, with an encouraging smile for him. Jerulas' lip lifted slightly, as if she smelled something unpleasant.

"Lady Hethlin. I do daresay. You will _dance_ with anyone, and are never happy unless you have at least a company of men about you."

Brand felt anger surge through him at the lady's abuse of his friend, and he started to say something to Jerulas, be she lady or not, but Hethlin's hand upon his forearm stopped him. He looked over at her and found her surveying Jerulas with a look of cool calculation.

"Brand?" Hethlin asked, in an amused, drawling tone he had never heard her use before. It was also a tone that carried very well to the people around them.

"Yes, my lady?"

"Remind me to have a word with the King's Master of Hounds tomorrow, please."

"My lady?" Brand asked, totally baffled.

"He has been terribly remiss, and I shall remind him of his duty, for it appears that a kennel door has been left open somewhere."

It took a moment for Brand to understand what she had just said, and when he did he gaped at her in shock. Someone in the immediate vicinity snickered. Hethlin smiled at Jerulas with seeming pleasantry, but she was also showing lots of teeth and her eyes were as cold as the northern countries the King had wandered in his youth. Suddenly, incongruous though it was in this peaceful setting, Brand remembered what Andrahar had told him not so long ago-_"Your Lady Hethlin, of whom you are so fond, is a very, very good killer."  
_

Jerulas, looking into those eyes, seemed to sense her peril as well, and actually took an involuntary step back. Then she appeared to recover. Cheeks flushed, she had just opened her mouth to say something, when suddenly her eyes widened and she sank into a curtsey instead. Brand turned to discover what had caused such a reaction and found that the Queen of Gondor was standing right behind him. He blanched. He had not heard her approach.

Everyone was bowing or curtseying. Hethlin sank straight down in as graceful a display as any lady there. Brand bowed as well.

Arwen might have been Elbereth herself, in a gown of midnight hue over which sparkling crystals were scattered like stars. The single white gem of her coronet bound her brows and her hair was twined and bound about with silver and crystal. She surveyed her obeisant courtiers and smiled.

"Please, everyone, do get up. There is no need for that." With a rustle of silk and brocade, Gondor's nobility straightened. Arwen turned her eyes upon Hethlin and a smile of genuine pleasure came over her face.

"Kinswoman! It is so very good to see you at our court, even if it is only briefly. I have missed you, and I enjoyed your letters."

"I have missed you as well, Your Majesty," Hethlin said, a pleased smile on her face. The next moment, the two women were embracing, to the murmurs and fascinated stares of the court. When they parted, Arwen turned to Lady Jerulas, lifting a long, slender hand to her cheek with an expression of sympathy.

"My poor Lady Jerulas. Are you not feeling well?"

Puzzled, Jerulas stammered, "I feel fine, Your Majesty. Why should you think otherwise?"

Arwen smiled her devastating smile. "Because it has not escaped my attention that you seem always to be out of sorts these days. It worries me. Prince Faramir has told me the tale of his mother, you see, and I begin to wonder if you might not be another lady like her, pining for the bracing sea air of Belfalas."

Jerulas paled. "No, Your Majesty, I assure you that is not the case."

The Queen gave her a level look, and the stars in those fathomless eyes burned cold of a sudden. "That is good to know. For if your disposition does not improve very quickly, then I will take steps to ensure your return to your home for your health's sake. I shall _insist _upon it! I am responsible for the welfare of my ladies, and I will have no one suffering by dancing attendance upon me when it would be more beneficial to them to be elsewhere."

To be sent home thusly by the Queen would have been social suicide, and Jerulas knew it. Even the veiled public chastisement she had just received would do her reputation no good. So she swallowed her pride and curtseyed once more.

"I promise you, Your Majesty, I will endeavor to be more cheerful in the future,' she said, throwing resentful glances at both Brand and Hethlin.

"That pleases me." In the next moment, the Queen turned her attention to Brand as well.

"Lord Brandmir."

He gulped under the battery of those eyes, and bowed.

"Your Majesty?"

"My husband, indolent creature that he is, has informed me that he has danced sufficiently for now." She gestured towards the thrones, where Aragorn was once more sitting, slouched comfortably with a goblet in his hand. He waggled the fingers of his free hand cheerfully at them, and Hethlin grinned and waved back. "I, however, have not."

Brand took the hint. "Would it please Your Majesty to dance with me?"

"Such a clever young man you are. Yes, it would."

In disbelief, Brand offered the vision before him his arm, and she took it, laying her hand upon his lightly as a feather. _Mother would __**never**__ believe this! _came the almost hysterical thought, as he lifted his chin and led the Queen onto the dance floor. More murmuring arose from the surrounding courtiers, but he barely noticed it, intent upon the music, which, to his relief he recognized as a dance that he could do.

"Do you know this one?" she asked kindly.

"Yes, Your Majesty," he said, adding honestly, "though I have been known to trip over my feet now and again." They formed up and began to tread the measures. After the first few panicked moments, when he couldn't remember which of his feet was right and which was left, Brand calmed and settled to the task before him.

"You are doing very well," Arwen remarked encouragingly after a bit. "I've seen no tripping. But then, your father was a very good dancer too."

Brand looked at her, startled. "You danced with my father?" The Queen nodded.

"Of course. At Rivendell. He stayed there for a couple of months before the Fellowship set out, and we had dances during that time. He moved very gracefully for such a large man."

"Did you…like him?"

The Queen nodded. "I did, though I can't claim to have known him well. I used to enjoy watching him with the young hobbits. He was a kind man." Arwen smiled kindly at Brand and he almost stumbled, struck anew by her beauty. "I do not know how you feel about what happened between Captain Andrahar and your father, Brandmir, but I would have you remember something. The Elves believe that love, any sort of love, is never wrong, or wasted. And that love has always been behind the greatest victories against the Dark down the ages."

_Can she read my mind? _Brand wondered. _How else can she know what I wanted to speak with Uncle Faramir about? I haven't even told him yet! _"I will remember, my lady," was all he could think of to say, but it must have been enough, for she smiled that blinding smile again. They did not speak through the remainder of the dance, until the Queen took his arm to be led back to her husband.

"The King and I were very glad when we heard that you had been found, Brandmir. We know that this has been a very great adjustment for you, and for your father's sake, and in his memory, we will help you in any way we can. If ever you need us, you need only call upon us. You do know that, don't you?"

"I do now, Your Majesty," he managed to say steadily enough, and she laughed her silvery laugh.

"You are much like your father, 'tis true, but I think perhaps a bit of your Grandy's charm has rubbed off as well! I fear the court will be littered with broken hearts in a few years."

"I think perhaps that it already is, Your Majesty, though _I_ cannot claim to be responsible," Brand said daringly. Arwen's laugh rang forth again, just as they approached the thrones.

"I see," said the King of Gondor as he watched them come, "that I had best retrieve my wife before you beguile her completely, my lord Brandmir!"

Brand gave Arwen's hand to her husband and bowed. "There is no fear of that, Sire," he said, and smiling a bit nervously added, "so long as you dance with her enough."

"Ah! I am chastised, and rightly so!" Aragorn laughed. "I see amends must be made, and swiftly! Come, my love!" Nodding to Brand, he rose from his throne and swept his wife off towards the dancing.

His courtly chore finally completed, Brand went looking for Tathar and danced with her a couple of more times. He also danced with Hethlin-as well as two other young ladies who were introduced to him by their own fathers. It did not take long for him to realize that the Queen's very public show of favor had done much to overcome the stigma of his illegitimacy, and he suspected that had been Arwen's intention. Feeling much more at ease, he actually enjoyed the remainder of the evening. He eventually retired to the townhouse with his kinsmen and sought his rest, looking forward to the meeting with his uncle on the morrow.


	12. What do you name him in your heart

"Clear?" Hethlin looked to Brand, who nodded, and the two of them marched to the target to retrieve their arrows. The morning was well advanced and though Captain Andrahar had had the esquires up and at their usual training regimen at the crack of dawn as promised, Hethlin had been excused the morning session so that she could practice her shooting-the tournament had an archery round and she was the best archer Dol Amroth had. By chance, she had encountered Brand after breakfast and had agreed to let him accompany her down to shoot at the targets on the Pelennor used by the Minas Tirith detachment. There were several men in sable and silver there practicing, but after some good-humored insults brought on by her Dol Amroth blue, she and Brand had been left alone to practice at a target on the end of the row.

They had compared further accounts of the celebration the evening before, then conversation had lapsed and the shooting had continued in relative silence, until they had both shot several rounds. But now as they drew their arrows carefully from the target, Hethlin gave Brand an earnest look.

"Brand, I do not want to pry. And I don't know what went on between you and the Captain that has the two of you so at odds. But you should really try to settle it before he leaves for the North. It is bad luck to go into battle with an unresolved quarrel at your back. You don't want to ill-wish him, do you?"

Disconcerted, Brand stared at her. He had never heard of such a belief. Andrahar certainly did not seem to put credence in such things. But her words caused a chill to come over him, and he remembered the disastrous dream he had dreamt in Dol Amroth before their departure.

"Valar's sake, Hethlin! Must you frighten my nephew with every unfounded superstition that ever made its way through the Rangers?" came a voice from behind them before Brand could think of how he should reply. They both turned to find the Steward of Gondor standing there, rather anonymous in a shabby black tunic and workaday breeches and boots.

"_Captain!" _Hethlin exclaimed in delight, her face lighting up. Then, seeing that he carried a quiver of arrows and bow of his own, a wicked twinkle came into her eyes. She gestured towards the weapon. "Do you actually remember how to use one of those?"

Brand's uncle raised an eyebrow. "Now that will be quite enough of that!" he murmured, but though his expression was perfectly solemn, his own eyes were laughing in response. "Good morning, Brandmir," he added.

"And to you, sir," Brand responded. "I did not think to see you this early."

"There is a Council called for the afternoon, and I doubt I will be free till late this evening," the Steward explained. "So I thought that I would come and find you now. I saw Uncle earlier this morning and he told me that you'd come down here to shoot with Hethlin, so I found my bow and followed you."

"I am very glad you did, sir. Lady Hethlin told me that you are one of the best archers in the city."

"_Was_ one of the best archers in the city," came Hethlin's impertinent murmur. "He's gone soft, sitting behind a desk all day. I'll wager he can't even string that bow."

Knowing his uncle to be a man of the utmost dignity, Brand was aghast. Even if Hethlin was his uncle's friend, this hardly seemed the way to address the Steward of Gondor, who was also the Prince of Ithilien! He looked at Faramir in trepidation, only to find him surveying the Dol Amroth esquire coolly, his head tilted a little to one side. Grey eyes met grey-gold and contested for a long moment, then he grinned boyishly and stepped forward to embrace his former Ranger, who eagerly embraced him back. Brand sighed in relief.

"Ah Heth, it is good to see you!"

"And you, Captain!"

"You looked lovely last night."

"Not lovely enough for you to dance with me, apparently."

"Mercy, Heth! I didn't even get a chance to dance with my wife! I'd been too long at Emyn Arnen and the lords gave me no peace all evening."

"Where _did_ Éowyn go? I caught a glimpse of her early in the evening, but she was with some ladies and I did not want to intrude. I never saw her again after that, and I did so want to greet her."

"And she you. But the Lady Firiel annoyed her so much that she left early."

"Was that the lady she spilled the wine on?" Brand asked curiously. His uncle put his hand over his eyes for a moment, chuckling ruefully.

"You saw that, did you? Yes, that was Lady Firiel."

Hethlin laughed. "I am sorry I missed that! It looks as if É owyn was doing her part to keep the ladies of Minas Tirith in check, even as Brand and I were!"

Faramir grinned again, to Brand's astonishment. Hethlin seemed to have quite the cheering effect upon his uncle. "Yes, I heard about Lady Jerulas. Really, Heth-the King's Master of Hounds? Aragorn doesn't even have such an official!"

"Well you'll need to find him one, if snippy little wenches like Jerulas are the rule at court these days," the lady esquire said unrepentantly. "Does Éowyn like the city?"

"Not particularly," Faramir answered, a slight frown on his face. "though she enjoys the Queen's company greatly. She much prefers Emyn Arnen. I cannot say I blame her. You must come to dinner, Hethlin, and soon. É owyn will be so happy to see you again." His expression brightened. "And I want to show you my son!"

Hethlin smiled, her eyes soft of a sudden. "I should very much like that, Faramir. I don't doubt that he is beautiful."

The Steward's pride in his offspring was palpable. "_I _certainly think so! Can I win you free of Captain Andrahar any time soon?"

"Not until after the tournament, I fear," Hethlin said, shaking her head regretfully. "He has got us all working furiously. We would have been in any event, preparing for our tests, but I think this might be even worse. I'm to shoot until lunch, then after lunch I've mounted practice, and since I missed the morning foot drills, I'll have to spar in the evening with the officers and the punishment detail to make up."

Faramir whistled. "That is quite a schedule!" He reached out and grasped her forearm briefly, squeezing. She squeezed his in return. His eyes widened. "And you've put a lot of muscle on! Do you remember that time when you blacked my eye for me? I told you then you had gotten much more dangerous since the time we'd met. I'll wager you'd hit even harder now!"

"You blacked my uncle's eye?" Brand interjected, interested. Hethlin gave the Steward a disgruntled look.

"You would bring that up, wouldn't you?" To Brand she added, "I was injured at the time, Brand, and not exactly myself."

"Nonsense. All the Rangers went in terror of you always," Faramir said, his face perfectly straight. Hethlin's eyebrow arched.

"As I recollect, you were _collecting _black eyes at the time," she replied sweetly. "I was hardly the only one hitting you."

"And _you_ would have to remind me of _that_!" It was Faramir's turn to look disgruntled.

"In any event, all that muscle certainly helps with my draw," the former Ranger declared, grinning. She obviously felt she had scored the winning point in the exchange. "Speaking of which-_can_ you string that bow? Or are you just going to stand here and talk all morning? Some of us have shooting to do!"

The Prince of Ithilien, and the former captain of its Rangers, did not deign to reply. Instead, he gave Hethlin a pointed stare as he drew the bow from its oiled casing, slipped the string onto the one end, stepped into the proper stance and bent the stave, sliding the other end of the string into its notch with only the tiniest of grunts. She nodded approval, then looked him up and down with a great show of feigned concern.

"Are you absolutely sure you didn't strain anything?" Seeing his affronted glare, she laughed out loud.

"Then come and shoot with us, Captain, if you think you remember how."

8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8

Faramir was disconcerted to find that he had indeed fallen off greatly from his war-time standard. In their first round, he was outscored not only by Hethlin but by Brand, which surprised both of them. But he did not stint his praise.

"You appear to have quite the knack for this, Brandmir! You shoot very well for one who has only been training for a couple of years."

"I've had a good teacher, sir," Brand said.

Faramir gave Hethlin an approving nod. "I can't think of a better myself. Your father never was interested in archery much-you're more like me in that respect." That idea seemed to please him.

He was even more pleased with the swiftness with which his skill returned. They shot several more rounds, and Brand never beat him again. Faramir improved consistently though he never managed to defeat Hethlin. During the last round he gave her a close battle, then admitted his defeat, shaking out his arms and shoulders with a wince as they gathered their arrows.

"There's truth to what you said earlier, Heth. I am not what I once was."

"You'd come back quick enough, Captain, if you'd just spend some time keeping your hand in," came Hethlin's tart rejoinder. "Today was proof of that." Relenting, she added, "Though I imagine that it is pretty hard for you to find the time to do it now."

"It is," the Steward admitted. "My duties take up most of my waking hours. Though I had forgotten how shooting targets calms my mind and clears my thoughts. For that reason alone, it would be worthwhile to try to do it every so often." He stepped into his bow and unstrung it, wincing once more before giving her a wry look. "Preferably often enough to keep from 'straining something' as you put it. Hethlin, I need to talk to Brandmir. Might I steal him from you?"

"Certainly, Faramir. It is past time for him to stop. He's shot his full number and more besides, and I'll not be having him overdo it." Brand hastened to unstring and case his own bow, and stepped to his uncle's side.

"Might I join you again some morning, Heth, if I get up early enough?" Faramir asked.

"You needn't ever ask, Faramir. You know that," came her soft reply.

"But I often have. And you have never stinted in your answer," came his equally soft response.

Brand could not fathom the look that passed between them then. It ended when Hethlin smiled suddenly, shook her head as if in disbelief at something and turned back to her shooting. "I hate it when you do that!" she declared, though there was no heat in her voice and Brand had no idea what she was talking about.

The Steward chuckled. "Good luck with the tournament and the test, Heth."

She looked back over her shoulder. "You'll need more luck than I, my lord. You've the Council to deal with!"

Faramir acknowledged the truth of that statement with a rueful smile and a nod, then looked down at Brand.

"It is almost lunch time. Why don't we go get some food and talk?"

8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8

The Silver Chalice was Brand's uncle's choice for lunch-a very nice tavern in the third circle. Faramir had apparently eaten there before-the tavern-keeper obviously recognized him despite his modest clothing, and quickly took them upstairs to a private dining room with a nice view out of the windows of the circles below them.

"Will this serve, my lord Steward? I assumed that you would not wish the common room," he said with a bow.

"This will do nicely, Faelan," Brand's uncle replied.

"Would you care for a hot or cold lunch?" came the next query. Faramir looked at Brand, who shrugged.

"Cold, I think. My nephew has never had one of your good salads. And some wine, please." The tavern-keeper gave Brand a startled, speculative look when he was named nephew, then bowed and departed, a young maid entering as he did so to lay napkins and tankards and utensils before them. She departed in her turn and when the door had closed behind her, Faramir looked at Brand.

"It was very good to see Hethlin this morning. I am glad I came out."

"She speaks very highly of you, sir."

"And I have naught but praise for her. We've saved each others' lives often enough." He drew his forefinger down his right cheek. "That's how she got that scar, did you know? Standing over me on the Pelennor."

"Yes, Grandy told me about that."

"She is a very good friend to have."

"So I have found her to be, sir. She has been very patient teaching me archery."

"And from what I saw this morning, she is doing an excellent job!" Faramir steepled his fingers together. Now-what was it you needed to talk to me about?"

"It's about Captain Andrahar, sir." A nod across the table, as if a suspicion had been confirmed.

"I thought that it might be. Uncle let slip one or two things that made me think there was some trouble between you. And speaking of Uncle, why have you not consulted with him about this? He is, after all, Gondor's acknowledged expert on Andrahar."

"He wants me to," Brand admitted uncomfortably. "I think sometimes he would also like to knock our heads together! But…I did not want to put him in the middle, if you know what I mean. He and the captain are so close. And he accepts what the captain is. I would feel silly talking to him about this."

"Uncle is usually quick-footed-whether in the middle or in other tricky spots. And he is more than capable of appreciating another's point of view-that is one of a diplomat's gifts. He does not blame you for the way you feel, of that I am certain. But I am always glad to give you counsel, Brand. I am very pleased you asked. So-has Andrahar failed in his guardianship in some way?"

Brand hastened to reassure. "Oh no, sir! He has done nothing wrong! He has always taken very good care of me."

"Then what is the matter?"

"I found out about him and my father. On my birthday. I asked him why he had never married."

Faramir's eyebrow arched, and that unnervingly intent gaze of his settled upon his nephew. "And he told you everything?"

"Not exactly." Here Brand cast down his eyes, embarrassed still by the trespass. "He explained that he was a lover of men. I went back to the house. All of his armor and things were out, because he was packing for the campaign. I was looking at his things and noticed his gambeson had a pocket in it. There was a wallet in the pocket. I pulled it out because I was curious. There was a letter from my father in the wallet. I read it."

"That was not well done, Brandmir." The rebuke was gentle enough, but Brand's ears turned red nonetheless.

"I know, sir. I have apologized to him."

"Is that what the problem is? That he is wroth with you about the letter?"

Brand looked back up. "No sir, he understands about that. But he knows that I was not…happy… about him and my father. After he and Grandy and 'Chiron rescued me from the slavers, we had a talk. He said that he should not have kept me to himself when he found me, that he should have told Elphir right away, so that you would know, that you should have had the chance to know me before I got so attached to him. And that since he was going to war for more than a year and that I would be starting esquire training when he got back, that perhaps we should distance ourselves, since I was unhappy about him and my father. And that I should spend more time with you, since you are my true kindred."

"You know that you are always welcome in my home, Brand, either to visit or to stay." Though his uncle's voice was perfectly even, Brand got the feeling that he was both surprised and pleased.

"I know that, sir. I know you would have liked me to come with you when you visited me that first time."

Faramir nodded, his fingers unconsciously toying with his napkin. "Yes, I would have. It was nice to have the time alone with É owyn when we were first married, but I would be lying if I said I wasn't somewhat resentful that all of Dol Amroth seemed to be conspiring to keep you away from me. Had you not made it clear that you preferred Dol Amroth to Minas Tirith yourself, I would have protested much more."

"Perhaps I should have come with you then, Uncle, despite how I felt," Brand admitted. "Then, if I had decided to become a Swan Knight, there would have been enough distance between us to suit the captain. He really meant what he said, sir-I hardly see him anymore, and he won't talk to me!"

"It is very unlike Andrahar to avoid anything or anyone," the Steward mused, "though it is quite possible, believe it or not, to hurt his feelings. And he is well aware of the attitude most Gondorians have towards men with his…tastes. If he believes you disapprove of such things, he will not inflict his presence upon you." He gave his nephew another piercingly intent look. "Is that such a loss to you? You still have Uncle and my cousins, after all."

Brand made a frustrated gesture. "I know that. But I _miss_ him! We used to talk about things. I could tell him anything. Please don't take this wrongly, sir, but…we're both bastards. Though everyone at Dol Amroth has always been wonderful to me, he is the only person who really understands about some things."

The return of the serving-girl with their lunch interrupted the discussion. Despite his troubles, Brand surveyed the salads, cold meats and cheeses and very beautiful bread with a growing boy's avid appetite and Faramir smiled. Once the table had been laid, he started eating so that Brand would as well, and they didn't speak for a couple of minutes.

Then, continuing the conversation, Faramir said, "I can see why you would value Andrahar's counsel-Uncle has for decades. And I can certainly see that the two of you have much in common! But what exactly is it that you want, Brand? Andrahar is right in saying that by the time he returns, you will be almost sixteen, and that gives you a man's status in some things in Gondor. You could enlist in the army at that age. Will you still have such need of his advice then? When Cousin Elphir became an esquire, I know that Andrahar worried about being properly impartial, given that he was Elphir's uncle in all but name. Consequently, poor Elphir had a much harder time of it than everyone else, just so no one would claim that Andrahar had shown him any favoritism! It is most likely that experience, as much as what happened recently, that makes him want to back away from you now. He might be trying to make things easier for you down the road."

"I did not know that about Cousin Elphir. That makes sense, I suppose." Brand looked down at his plate glumly and stirred his food with his fork. "And if that is why he is doing this, it's difficult to argue with him. But I want things to be like they were before all this happened! I want us to be easy with each other again-even if it means he does come down hard on me when I am an esquire."

Faramir took a sip of his wine. "Future favoritism in the Swan Knights aside, I do not believe that Andrahar would have trouble reconciling with you-provided you can bring yourself to accept that he is a lover of men. And make him believe that you accept it. For he is not only honest to a fault, he can sense a falsehood far better than most. _Do_ you really accept it? Do you know exactly what it was that he and your father were doing together?"

"I looked at that book, the one the captain told me to. That _Garden _book in the library, with all the pictures."

"Ah yes, the true source of wisdom for all things carnal in Dol Amroth," Faramir chuckled. "What did you think? Were you disgusted?"

Brand frowned in thoughtful reminiscence. "No, not any more than by some of the other things in there. Do people really _do_ those things?"

"Some do some of them. Very few, I think, do all of them."

"That's a relief!"

Brand's uncle chuckled again, and Brand took the opportunity to eat a couple of bites. When he had done so, he looked up hesitantly at Faramir, who cocked an eyebrow.

"What is it, Brand?"

"Did Grandy tell you about the dream I had when I was on board the slavers' ship?"

"No, he did not. Was it a special dream? One of the visions? I know you have the wave dream."

Brand nodded. "It was. It was my father. We were on the beach at Dol Amroth, and he told me lots of things, mostly about him and the captain. Father told me to give a message to the captain, and when I gave it to him, Andrahar was very shaken. It made no sense to me, but it obviously meant something to him, so I knew that my father had really been there."

"What did your father say?" the Steward asked lightly enough, but Brand noticed something of the same hunger in his eyes that Andrahar had shown. So he recounted the entire conversation as best he could, and as he did so, his uncle's face lit up. Faramir looked much younger of a sudden, and even laughed in a couple of places.

When Brand was done, his uncle dabbed at his eyes with his napkin and asked, "Oh, Valar! That was _definitely_ Boromir! Did he give you any message for me?"

"I am sorry, sir, but no."

At Brand's worried look, Faramir smiled. "Don't worry, lad. All is well. We said our farewells long ago. I am very glad that you got to meet him, even if only in a dream."

"I am too, though it makes me sad. Even though he was rude a couple of times, I still would have liked to know him."

"And he would have liked to have known you, as I told you when we first met." There was a pause as Faramir's eyes grew distant and he played with the silver ring upon his left hand. Brand waited in polite silence and eventually he spoke again.

"Brand, I want to help you. And I will help you in any way I can. But to do that, I have a question that you must answer, and you need to answer this question as honestly as you can, without worrying about offending me. Will you do that?" His uncle's customary gravity was back in full force and sensing the solemnity of the request, Brand took a moment to actually think about his response before he nodded slowly.

"Very well then." Faramir smiled reassuringly. "My question is this-what is Andrahar to you? In other words, what do you name him in your heart when you think upon him? Friend? Guardian?"

Brand hesitated for a long moment before he answered. "Father," he said at last softly. Despite Faramir's assurances, he hastened to explain. "I am sorry, sir, but it's just that…that my step-father never loved me. And you all love me because I am Boromir's son. But the captain bought me out from the tanner before he knew who I was. He chose me for _me_. And I haven't forgotten that."

"Nor should you. His choice does give him a valid claim upon your affections." The same hand that had been twisting the ring but moments before reached across the table to enfold Brand's and give it a gentle squeeze. "Be at peace, Brand! I am honored that you trust me enough to answer so honestly. And it is fitting, in a way. Did not my brother say so? '_You have my blessing, for whatever that is worth and my hope that you will be able to come to terms with this and look after Andra for me. You don't need me to tell you that you are good for each other.' _I rarely argued with my brother when he was alive and find no profit in doing so now. You have told me what I need to know, and now I can help you."

Brand gave his uncle a searching look, worried that he might have caused him grief, but Faramir seemed totally at ease. "Have you had enough to eat?" he asked, and at Brand's affirmative nod, pushed away from the table. Standing up, he laid the price of their meal on the boards and gathered his bow and arrows. Brand followed suit.

"Come. The Council convenes soon, but we have a little time. Let us go to Uncle's house and have a look in the library there. I tend to rely upon books for my answers, and I am thinking that if memory serves me, there may be one or two there that will help you." Brand's face fell at that prospect, and Faramir laughed.

"If there were ever a doubt you are my brother's son, that look just proved your heritage! So Boromir used to look when I suggested that he study some work or other for answers to his problems!" He laid a companionable arm about his nephew's shoulders and ushered him from the tavern.

8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8

As they walked back up to the Prince's townhouse, Faramir chatted amiably with his nephew about the progress of his studies in Dol Amroth and other family news, including some understandably prideful description of Brand's new cousin Elboron. They were greeted upon their arrival by Imrahil, who gave the Steward a quizzical look.

"Am I late for Council, Faramir? I thought it was not convening until the eighth bell."

"You are correct, Uncle. I just brought Brand back. We've business in the library and then I will walk over with you if you like."

"Excellent! I will leave you to it then." With a nod and a cheery smile, he left them, and Brand followed his uncle down the hall to the library, not so large or impressive a room as the library at Dol Amroth, but equally well-lit and comfortable. With the air of a man who knew the place intimately, Faramir began to prowl the shelves. Brand toyed with the pieces of the chess set while he did so.

"Do you play, Brandmir? I did not know that," the Steward said, upon turning around and seeing this.

Brand set the knight he'd been turning over in his fingers back upon the board. "I only just started learning, sir. The captain taught me-he said it was a good game for a soldier to know."

"It is a good game for anyone to know-it teaches clear thinking. Shall we play a game sometime?"

"Only if you promise to be more patient with me than Cousin Amrothos was!" Boromir's grin manifested suddenly upon his son's face. "Because I have heard Uncle say that the two of you are the best chess players in Gondor and I tried playing with Cousin Amrothos once. He did not enjoy it much."

Faramir chuckled. "'Rothos is capable of being a patient teacher of some subjects, but it is true that he is very serious about his chess. However, I think that I can summon up enough fortitude to deal with you."

"Then I would be glad to play with you, Uncle."

"We will do it soon." Faramir promised, turning back to his search.

"What are you looking for, sir?"

"Oh, some things that might help you understand Andrahar a little better. There are a couple of titles I am thinking of…" his voice trailed off into silence, then Brandmir heard a small, surprised exclamation. "What is _this_ doing here? I thought it was in Dol Amroth."

Intrigued, Brand joined his uncle, to find him opening an old, rather nondescript volume. There was a bookmark in the book, a simple piece of plum-colored ribbon. To Brand's surprise, the ribbon seemed to have great significance to the Steward, who stroked it with his fingers for a moment, then took it up and pressed it gently to his lips before placing it back in the book. Only then did he look down at the place where the book had been marked. He scanned a couple of pages and his eyebrows rose. "Right as usual, Aunt," he murmured, then looked up at Brand, his eyes glowing with some deep emotion.

"This book might help you, Brand, particularly the marked chapter. It's a bit florid, but despite that it once proved very useful indeed. It actually saved Gondor from going to war decades before she did! Show it to Uncle and ask him to tell you the tale. After you've had a look at it we'll talk again. I want you to come to dinner soon-É owyn has been asking about you. If you need to talk to me sooner, just send a message. I am very busy right now, but I will always try to make time for you if it is at all possible."

"Thank you, sir," Brand said as he accepted the book. The door opened soundlessly, and the Prince of Dol Amroth stuck his head into the room.

"Faramir? We should be going now."

"I was just saying my good-byes to Brand." Faramir embraced his nephew. "I promise we will talk again soon, lad."

Brand nodded. "Good afternoon, sir. I hope the Council does not go on too long." His great-uncle rolled eyes heavenward.

"We can only hope! Come, my lord Steward!" Faramir joined him and they started down the hall. As they went, Brand heard his uncle say, "There is no need to hurry so, Uncle-they cannot start without us. I must officially open the session." Imrahil's reply was muted by distance.

Brand looked down at the book. If the text were as florid as his uncle had said, the title of the book certainly matched it. _Among The Savages_, it read, _A Journal Of Explorations In The Wilder Regions of Harad And Khand By Meneldor of Lebennin_. The chapter marked by the ribbon was Chapter Sixteen, and it was titled-_Inheritance Laws And Customs-A Comparison Between The More Civilized Khanates And The Deep Desert Barbarians._


	13. So you really like her!

Having come to literacy late, Brand was not a quick reader even after two years of practice. And the archaic, flowery language in the book his uncle had recommended to him did not make matters easier. After manfully attempting the opening pages of the first chapter that night, he contemplated skipping to the marked chapter and reading that first, but that offended his sense of order, so he soldiered on until bedtime, reading and re-reading the passages he found incomprehensible.

The next morning, he approached the Prince over breakfast in the garden about the subject of a suitable horse for Lady Tathar to ride, so that he might keep his promise. Imrahil was very pleased when he heard what had transpired.

"That was both kind and thoughtful of you, lad. Liahan's family is proud, and scornful of charity. Their lands are not particularly good, and they have other…expenditures which have put them in the position they are in. But Lord Lalven will not object if it is put to him as a favor to me. I keep a palfrey here for Mariel when she visits, even though she doesn't really ride all that much. The mare should suit the girl well enough, and if Lady Tathar is exercising her then my stableman is spared the task."

"Oh, good. I saw that little horse in the barn and thought that she might be something Lady Tathar could ride." Brand smiled as he contemplated Tathar's pleasure, then that smile turned to a frown as something occurred to him. "Sir, is there some sort of special way I should invite her?"

"There is indeed." Imrahil said approvingly. "It is good to see that those lessons in etiquette have not gone amiss. You need to tread carefully where Tathar is concerned, Brandmir. She is a lady of good family and your behavior while in her presence must be beyond reproach. You cannot just gallop over to her house and throw pebbles at her window to bring her down."

Brand sighed in disappointment. That idea had a certain appeal. It was simple, straightforward, uncomplicated. And he suspected that Tathar would have found that approach perfectly acceptable. But throwing pebbles was something he couldn't do. Glass, to someone of his former lowly background, was a magical substance, expensive beyond any imagining, and he would never risk damaging a window. "I am going to have to write a _note_, aren't I?"

The Prince chuckled at the lack of enthusiasm in his voice. It wasn't that the boy _couldn't_ write, but that skill had come more slowly to him than reading in two languages, and speaking a second one. Brand actually had something of a gift for languages, as proven by his rapid progress in Haradric (though Andrahar had been of undeniable help there), but composition was still a trial to him, not to mention legible handwriting, despite two years of practice and correspondence with his mother and his friend in Pelargir, Serl. And he was obviously still smarting from the ordeal of having to write and re-write the thank-you notes for his birthday presents, an exercise his composition teacher had set him at the Prince's suggestion.

"Yes, you are. To Lord Lalven."

"_Not_ to Lady Tathar?"

"No. You write the note to her father asking permission to invite Lady Tathar to ride. And he will probably want to talk to you first. _Then_ you write the note to Lady Tathar."

Brand frowned. His simple good deed was getting more complicated by the minute! "After I write the note to Lord Lalven-"

"-and _I _will help you with that-" his great-uncle interjected.

"-and I talk to him and write the note to Lady Tathar and she agrees, _then_ what happens?"

Brand, the Prince of Dol Amroth noted, bore an uncanny resemblance to his father, and most of the time his mother's influence was nowhere to be seen. But at the moment the boy's attitude was definitely a peasant's sullen suspicion and fear of the worst. Imrahil smiled patiently.

"Then we find the two of you a suitable chaperone to ride with you. You cannot just ride out by yourselves."

"Why not?" Then realization set in. "Oh, for pity's sake, not _that_ again! Do people think of _nothing_ else?" Brand sighed in disgust. "I'm not going to pork Lady Tathar!"

The Prince choked on his tea. He'd not heard such peasant talk from Brand in over a year, but even in this regression there was a resemblance to Boromir, who had always been able to exhibit a cleverly crude turn of speech when he wished. "Brand! _Language, _lad!" he chided aloud, after he'd swallowed and recovered..

Brand had the grace to blush. "Sorry, sir. But it's true."

"I don't doubt it. But since Tathar's father will undoubtedly ask this question, I will give you some practice now-what exactly _are_ your intentions towards Tathar?"

Brand gave the matter a moment's serious consideration before he answered. "Well, I just liked her, sir. She likes horses like I do, and she was very friendly after she found out that it was you who had sent me. She'd been teased before, you see. Because of the spots. I liked talking to her. And I felt badly that she'd outgrown her pony and didn't have a horse of her own, so I offered what I did. I'm too young to be courting people yet, no matter what Lady Merilin said. I just thought she might like a friend."

"That is actually a good answer," the Prince said approvingly, "though you might consider leaving the bit about the spots out. And, of course, any mention of 'porking'." Brand bowed his head over his breakfast and the tips of his ears grew redder still. "And I am going to charge you with making sure that that answer is what _both_ Tathar and her father know. Despite limited acquaintance, I do not believe that Tathar is one of those young ladies for whom acquiring a husband is the total focus and meaning of their lives, but if you merely want her as a friend, then be careful not to raise any other expectations by your actions."

He was pleased to see that Brand took this very seriously. "I will be careful, sir," he promised, looking back up at his great-uncle gravely. Imrahil regarded him for a long moment, then nodded in satisfaction. Then his mouth twitched slightly with a repressed smile.

"What exactly was it that Lady Merilin said?"

"She said that _Lady Hethlin _would be a good match for me! Can you imagine? And she also said that some of us should act our ages. That was while you were dancing with Lady Hethlin."

"Did she now?" The Prince's eyes were twinkling. "Gracious, could it be possible that I am a scandal again after almost forty years? I am not sure I remember what that feels like." His most wicked, pirate's grin manifested suddenly. "Do you wish for me to step aside in favor of you as regards Lady Hethlin? Since she is such a perfect match for you?"

Brand, who was not unfamiliar with his great-uncle's more manic moods, eyed him warily. "No, sir." Imrahil took another long sip from his cup.

"That is good to know," he said, dabbing at his lips with his napkin. "Because I would not, and then we would have to duel to the death or resolve the issue in some other horribly impractical and romantic way. The minstrels would sing of us forever." Brand snorted, and turned his attention back to his breakfast.

"Did you ever decide what you were going to tell Andra, lad?" the Prince asked after they'd both eaten silently for a few minutes. His voice was carefully casual.

Brand grimaced. "No, sir. But I did talk to Uncle Faramir about it."

"Did he give you good counsel?"

"He gave me a _book_!"

Imrahil chuckled at Brand's disgruntled expression. "You may be very sure that Faramir would not have done so if he did not feel that the book had some bearing upon your situation," he assured his great-nephew.

"That's as may be, but I've only just started it and it is hard going. He said he would talk to me again after I had read it, but I do not think he knows how long that is going to take!"

"What is the title of this difficult tome?"

"_Life Among the Savages_, or something like that. It's a really long title. Uncle said that it was a book that had saved Gondor from going to war a long time ago, and that you would tell me the story if I asked."

The Prince's eyebrows flew up. "Meneldor's _Among the Savages_?" Brand nodded, and his great-uncle gave him a sympathetic look. "That probably is hard going for you, lad! I didn't even know it was here-I thought it was at Dol Amroth. 'Rothos must have carried it here at some point." A reminiscent smile came over his face. "Yes, there is quite the story there. I would be happy to tell you if you would care to hear it, though I must say that it was not all that long ago, not if you consider Gondor's history as a whole. At least _I_ like to think so," he added wryly. "Young as you are, thirty-five years might very well seem like an age."

"Were you married then, sir?" Brand asked curiously.

"I was trying to be," came the amused response. "Your Uncle Faramir was two years old, and your father was seven. The book helped us to negotiate a peace treaty with the Haradrim, then the very next day Boromir almost broke the treaty and started a war all by himself."

"How did he do that?"

Imrahil started to speak, then paused to look up and check the position of the sun filtering through the trees, and sighed in resignation. "I must be off to Council soon, lad, and it is a tale that takes some time to tell, if I am to do it justice. But I do have just enough time to help you with your note to Lord Lalven. Shall we do that instead, so that you may go riding with Lady Tathar sooner rather than later? I promise you, I will relate the story to you as soon as I may."

Brand nodded. "Thank you, sir, that would probably be the best thing to do, busy as you are right now." Disappointed as he was that he was not going to hear one of Imrahil's legendary stories, particularly one including his father as a child, he saw the wisdom in the Prince's suggestion. He did not want to have to write a letter to a man he did not know by himself.

"Then why don't you go into the library and get the writing things and bring them out here? If I must be trapped indoors with crotchety counselors for the remainder of the day, then I might as well enjoy the sunshine while I may."

8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8

Helping to write Brand's letter properly took up all of the Prince's remaining time before the Council. In fact, he did not set off for the Citadel until the bell was ringing the hour. Brand apologized for making him late, but Imrahil was not perturbed.

"They can wrangle on for a few minutes without me. I am usually one of the first ones there. And besides, this is important." He departed, calling for his secretary, after giving Brand a warm embrace. Brand sealed his note with plain wax, contemplating the possibility of getting a ring with his arms on it, like his Uncle Faramir's Steward's seal ring, then went into the house to find someone to carry the message.

The Prince's house being well-staffed, it did not take long to find a footman to deliver his note to Lord Lalven. What was dismaying was that it also did not take any time for that footman to deliver the lord's invitation that Brand come to see him that very afternoon! Lord Lalven was apparently not at the Council session, despite his daughter's assertion that they had come to do just that.

Brand was more than capable of penning "I would be happy to attend upon you then, my lord," by himself and he promptly sent his response back off, but once he had sealed his fate, panic came over him. He had certainly not thought this through carefully! In his rush to fulfill his promise to Tathar, he had not considered that the Prince, his usual advisor on social matters, was tied up in Council, as was his uncle, who would have been his second choice. Even Andrahar might have been able to help, had they been speaking, but the captain was busy overseeing the final academic testing for the esquires. The small barracks building adjoining the townhouse was unnaturally quiet, exuding a sort of intense hum instead of the more raucous noises the esquires usually made

At a loss as to how he should dress and feeling unsure about his hard-won social graces, wishing for a little bit of last-minute coaching, he started to wander aimlessly through the house. Passing the open library door, he saw a slender figure disposed upon the couch, apparently asleep with a book open over its face. Such a position hardly looked comfortable, and he tiptoed in with the intention of removing the book and covering the sleeper with the quilted silk throw thrown over the back of the couch for that very purpose. But the moment he reached for the book, the sleeper's hand shot out and seized his wrist to stop him, then slid down over his, feeling the fingers in an odd fashion.

"What do you want, Brand?" his cousin Amrothos murmured, without removing the book from his face.

"How did you know it was me, 'Rothos?" Brand asked, intrigued. He hadn't spoken at all, so his cousin couldn't have recognized his voice. "Did you peek?"

"No. Didn't have to. Young person's hand, with bow calluses."

"That could have been Lady Hethlin."

"No. It's true her hand would be about the same size of yours, but hers is harder and she would have better-developed sword calluses as well. Once more-what do you want?"

"I…I have to go visit Lord Lalven this afternoon, to ask him if he will let Lady Tathar ride with me. And I don't know what to wear or do."

"And you're asking _me_?" Incredulity colored Amrothos' tone, and the book was finally removed. His eyes were bleary, and he looked rumpled and disheveled. In any other man, such an appearance might have indicated a night of license; Amrothos, Brand knew, had probably just fallen asleep in the library after staying up all night reading.

"Grandy and Uncle Faramir are in council, and Captain Andrahar is testing the esquires."

"As if you would have asked Andrahar!" Amrothos snorted. "I have given up waiting for the two of you to sort things out. What a silly mess!" Brand glared at him in affront, but he merely grinned, and pushed himself up onto one elbow, suddenly looking much more awake.

"So you're visiting Lalven to ask if he will let you ride out with his daughter? Goodness, starting the courting a bit early, aren't you?"

"We're just _friends_," Brand said, very much on his dignity.

Imrahil's youngest son's eyes were twinkling much as his father's were wont to do. "Oh. You actually _like_ her! Well then, I suppose my advice to look as slovenly, untrustworthy and lecherous as possible so you needn't have to deal with her won't help."

Amrothos, Brand reflected, could be at times equal parts interesting and provoking. "No, that won't help," he said aloud, taking a firm grip on his patience. "Is that what you do?"

"Ouch!" Amrothos exclaimed, miming a hit to his heart. "The young archer strikes the gold!" But he seemed amused rather than offended. "No, I find that slovenly and very, very _strange_ works well enough for me."

Even the third-born son of the richest man in Gondor might expect to come in for some attention from the fairer sex, but given that Brand had never seen a court lady dance or ride out or willingly spend any time at all with Amrothos, his cousin's assertion certainly seemed truthful.

"Don't you like ladies?" he asked.

Amrothos sat up and stretched, yawning. "If you mean to ask am I like Uncle Andra, the answer is no." A moment's pause. "As far as I know."

"You haven't used your key yet?" Brand was surprised. Amrothos was more than old enough. This was a line of questioning he would not have pursued with anyone else, but Amrothos never minded questions of any sort, even personal ones.

His cousin's eyebrow flew up. "No, I haven't. A messy business, that all seems to me. Confuses and clouds the mind. I daresay that one day I will become curious enough about it to give it a try, but for now, I have more than enough to do." His grey eyes bored intently into Brand's for a moment.

"Have you used _yours _yet?"

The problem with asking Amrothos personal questions was that he had no problem asking them right back. Brand blushed.

"No. Not yet."

"Well there is certainly no hurry, despite what 'Chiron might tell you." Another stretch. "But this line of discussion doesn't solve your problem, and I can't either. But I know who can. The most important man in Dol Amroth after my father. And fortunately for you, he's here in Minas Tirith right now."

Brand stared at his cousin, baffled. Confusion was a state he often found himself in when dealing with Amrothos. "Cousin Elphir isn't here."

Amrothos grinned wickedly. "I'm not talking about Brother. I'm talking about Father's valet."

8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8

Maeddan was a short, slightly plump, unprepossessing man, whose brown eyes and somewhat dusky complexion hinted at Lossarnach blood or the remnant of Gondor's oldest folk that still lingered in the more remote parts of Belfalas. Although he was the Prince's servant, his manner was not in the least servile-rather it was that of a man who had moved comfortably among the highest nobles of the land for most of his life.

Amrothos had led Brand up to his father's chambers and there they had found the valet quietly going about the endless round of chores involved in the maintenance of Imrahil's extraordinary wardrobe. He listened attentively to the young prince's description of Brand's predicament, then nodded at the end of it.

"Of course I would be happy to assist you, Lord Brandmir. I am sorry that you did not realize you could call upon me for aid in such matters. The Prince would expect no less of me. Prince Amrothos, I thank you for bringing this matter to my attention. You may leave it in my hands." Needing no more encouragement, Amrothos headed back to the library, acknowledging Brand's thanks with a casual wave of the hand.

The valet then accompanied Brand back to his own room. His perusal of Brand's wardrobe took but a moment before he extracted one of Brand's nicer blue tunics and breeches and a shirt and threw his blue-black cloak over one arm. With his other hand, he grabbed Brand's good black boots and a matching belt and pouch.

"These will be most appropriate, young sir. I will ring you a bath and prepare them while you bathe."

"But I had a bath just last night!"

"Cleanliness builds confidence, the Prince always says. You will feel the better for it, trust me."

Maeddan was so masterful that Brand acquiesced without any further argument. He had just finished bathing and was drying off when the valet returned with his clothing and laid it on the bed. Maeddan gave him his robe, then sat him down in a chair and did arcane things to his fingernails. He also produced a comb and a pair of scissors from some mysterious place on his person, draped a towel carefully about Brand's neck and began trimming his hair.

"You should come to me for such things, young lord," he declared as he worked. "Master Cuilast is a most excellent surgeon, but his knowledge of hair-cutting is very…workaday. I see that you have your uncle's cowlick, and such things require more expertise than Master Cuilast possesses."

Brand was of the opinion that "workaday" was just fine-Cuilast was fast and thorough and Andrahar had certainly seemed to think the result neat enough. Maeddan was taking forever it seemed, snipping only a hair or two at a time. But he did not tell the valet that. "You cut my uncle's hair?"

"Only once, at Prince Imrahil's request. It was soon after the King's coronation and apparently the King had cut Prince Faramir's hair himself for some reason. Elessar's command on the field of battle may be unequaled, but his barbering left something to be desired. Prince Faramir had just acquired a new manservant himself, so the haircut was as much an instruction for that gentleman on the proper way to deal with cowlicks as anything else." Maeddan said nothing for a little time after that, the only noise being the intermittent snip of his scissors.

"Have you considered, my lord, that you should acquire a manservant of your own?" he asked eventually, as he gently whisked away the cut pieces. A hand mirror was then moved about Brand's head so that he could examine the results. As much as Brand liked Cuilast, he had to admit the Prince's valet had managed to coax his normally unruly locks into the most mannerly coiffure he'd ever seen.

"No…no, I hadn't." The possibility had never occurred to Brand, nor did he see any need. He and Andrahar had had their laundry done at the castle, and a good many of their meals there. Their domestic needs when at Andrahar's house had been ably met by Mistress Alfirin. Princess Mariel seemed to like to shop for his clothes, and he was all too happy to leave her that task. And if he stayed with his uncle, he was certain the Steward of Gondor had a staff.

"You might give it some thought. A knowledgeable manservant could be of benefit to you in many ways as you seek your place in society. I know of a couple of good prospects-younger men than myself as I believe you would probably prefer-should you wish for a recommendation."

To actually be paying someone to wait upon him was that final leap that would confirm beyond doubt that there was never any going back to being Brandmir of Pelargir, and that made Brand uneasy. But he couldn't think of how to express that to the valet, so he fell back upon another explanation.

"I am going to be an esquire in a couple of years. They are not allowed servants. So it doesn't seem fair to take somebody up and then let them go in a couple of years or have them sitting about with nothing to do."

Maeddan gave Brand's statement thoughtful consideration. "Yes, I can see where that could be a problem. You might indeed be wise to wait until after your graduation." He removed the towel about Brand's neck and gestured him to the dressing screen. Brand went behind it and was presented with his garments, which he found to his surprise were much improved. He would not have thought it possible. The shirt seemed brighter and was totally wrinkle-free, crisp and fragrant, and the breeches and tunic had been brushed and aired. He began to dress.

"With the Prince going to war, I will have some time on my hands," the valet continued as he gave Brand's boots a critical eye and a judicious buff with a soft brush. "Should you require the services of a manservant for a special occasion, please know that you can always come to me for such. I would be only too happy to render what small service I can, and as I said before, the Prince would expect me to."

"That is very kind of you."

"It is nothing. I am happy to be of assistance."

"You're not going north with the Prince?"

"Oh no! His Highness has sergeants who see to him in the field, and instruct the esquires in the way of things. And though it shames me to admit it, I have no idea about how to maintain armor!"

"What will you do while he is gone?"

"Prince Elphir will keep me busy, never you fear! There are always guests at Dol Amroth and I will serve them. And maintaining the Prince's wardrobe is truly a full-time task, even when he isn't present." Having some idea about the extent of that wardrobe, Brand was all too willing to believe that. But the mention of Prince Elphir, and Brand's knowledge that Imrahil's eldest was responsible for Dol Amroth's intelligence, caused him to look at the valet in sudden speculation.

"Master Maeddan? Do you speak any languages besides Westron?"

Maeddan chuckled. "I hope you will not be offended if I refuse to answer that question, Lord Brandmir."

Brand cocked an eyebrow. "That refusal is a sort of answer all by itself, you know."

"Indeed it is. But while we are on the subject of intelligence, young sir-would you like some background on Lady Tathar's family?"

Brand owned that that would be very helpful and over the next few minutes, in a very concise and thorough briefing learned a great deal about Tathar's family holdings, connections and history. Tathar was the youngest of seven children, a rare feat of fecundity amongst Gondor's noble houses, and a bit of ill fortune when the noble house was as impoverished as Lord Lalwen's. Lalwen's oldest son helped him to defend and manage his lands, and both he and Lalwen had fought in the coastal battles. The second son had gone to sea in his youth and now captained a ship in Dol Amroth's navy, the third had joined a trading company in Dol Amroth. As fourth son, Liahan's prospects had been nonexistent-until he had been fostered in Dol Amroth as a child at Imrahil's suggestion. Nelladel was the oldest of the girls and given her age and lack of dowry, was unlikely to ever marry. Tathar's next oldest sister had made an unexceptional marriage to a merchant in Pelargir. Tathar had been a late baby, and there was a twelve-year gap between herself and the rest of Lalwen's children. She too had a dearth of dowry that even a good pedigree would not ameliorate.

Brand learned that Tathar's mother had been a great beauty of the court and that she was deemed to have married beneath herself when she chose Lalwen. She had died of an illness during the Ring War and in the last desperate battles against the Corsairs, Lord Lalwen had sustained a severe injury to his sword arm. He had not lost the arm, but it was maimed and of little use. Brand was particularly glad to have that information, for he feared he might have stared or acted inappropriately had he been surprised.

"Lord Lalwen's house is down in the third circle, my lord," Maeddan concluded. "I will see that you have an escort who can show you the way. You needn't worry about the interview-Lord Lalwen is a reasonable man, and will undoubtedly agree to your request. He will probably even welcome it. There is, however, one final thing, and it is most important." At Brand's inquiring look, the valet continued. "How do you feel about _dogs_?"


	14. Keep good watch if you will, my friend

Lord Lalven's home was an ancient manse all the way down in the third circle, in a neighborhood of similar houses that had fallen from their former exalted station and had been divided into apartments. His home seemed to be the only one still occupied by a single family.

Brand was escorted there by a cheerful young foot soldier named Talgeth, a member of the small detachment Prince Imrahil kept at his Minas Tirith house at all times. Talgeth had been stationed in Minas Tirith long enough that he was able to swiftly guide Brandmir to his destination. Having done so, he settled himself upon a bench at the front of the house with the obvious intention of waiting as Brand approached the front door.

"You can go back on up the hill, if you like," Brand said to the soldier. "I can find my own way back."

"It would be worth my life to return without you, my lord." Talgeth replied amiably. "And I am passing fond of my life! I do not mind."

"I used to run alone in Pelargir in a lot worse neighborhoods than this, and I was a lot younger when I did. I wish people would remember that!"

Talgeth chuckled. "I think that what the Prince and Captain Andrahar are chiefly remembering at this point is what happened in Dol Amroth right before you left, my lord. Give the memory a month or two to fade, and they'll slacken the leash."

"In a month, they'll be gone!"

"Well! There you have it. The problem will be solved then." Showing no inclination whatsoever to leave, Talgeth gave the bell-pull a pointed look. "Don't you have someplace to be, my lord?"

Brand gave the argument up as a lost cause and rang the bell. As he did so, he reflected upon the fact that the Prince never seemed to go anywhere outside the palace or the townhouse without at least one guard in attendance, and wondered if his life was going to take that same path. _Perhaps not._ _After all, I am just a lord and a minor one at that, not a prince. _And from things he'd overheard, Imrahil had not always been held to such strict oversight. The Captain had become much more stringent about the Prince's escort since Imrahil had returned from his Lorien misadventure.

The sound of the door opening interrupted Brand's deliberations. A tall, rather round, middle-aged woman stood there, a big apron over her dress and a dish towel draped over one arm. She gave Brand a considering look, then smiled.

"You must be Lord Brandmir," she said. "Do come in, my lord. His lordship is in the study and is expecting you." She stepped aside to allow Brand to enter the entrance hall, which was clean but plainly furnished. But Brand had little attention to spare for the furnishings, for he was frozen in shock, his gaze riveted upon the dog that stood in the hallway.

Maeddan had warned him that Lalven's family kept dogs, and had implied that there were several of them, and even that they were large. But the valet had been guilty of understatement in the extreme. This hound was the biggest dog Brand had ever seen, far larger than the hounds in the Prince's pack. Standing as tall as a small pony, the animal was covered with black, wiry hair, and its dark brown eyes assessed Brand coolly for a moment before it turned and began to pad silently down the hall.

The housekeeper, if such she was, did not seem intimidated by the dog in the least. "Come along, Lord Brandmir, I'll show you to his lordship. Don't mind old Morneleg there-he's as gentle as a lamb." Morneleg, who was preceding them down the hall, did not look gentle as a lamb to Brand-he looked as if he could _devour_ a lamb in three gulps!

But Brand walked with the housekeeper and gamely tried to ignore the dog, noting instead the air of faintly shabby gentility that lay over the house.

After turning to the left and following that passage past several doors, the housekeeper stopped before a larger, open one and knocked.

"Lord Brandmir, my lord," she announced, sticking her head in the door after a moment's pause. There was a murmured response from within.

"You can go on in, my lord," she said to Brand, smiling, and opening the door.

Morneleg preceded him into the room. Brand followed, and found himself in a study not unlike the Prince's, with the same sorts of shelves of books and sheaves of documents, save that it was smaller, and not so richly furnished or tidy. But it did look out upon a pretty pocket garden. Lord Lalven, who had been seated at the desk, rose as Brand entered and gestured to a comfortable chair that had been set before it.

"Lord Brandmir. It is a pleasure to meet you at last. Please, do sit down. Would you care for tea?" Lalven's voice was soft and resonant like his son's, and they both shared the same beautiful dark grey eyes. But other than those eyes he was unremarkable looking, of middling height and build and nowhere near so handsome as Liahan. His right arm was held close to his side in a sling of dark cloth, his right hand looking somewhat curled in upon itself.

Thinking that he would not be up to talking to Lalven while minding his tea manners at the same time, Brand said "No thank you, my lord," remembering belatedly to sit gently rather than dropping into the chair. Lord Lalven resumed his own seat. The huge black hound moved to his left side, its dark eyes regarding Brand around the corner of the desk as its master ruffled its ears.

"Does the dog bother you, Lord Brandmir?"

"A little, my lord," Brand admitted, hoping honesty would win out over possible offense. "I've never seen one quite so big as yours."

"Have you never owned a dog of your own then?"

"Oh no, my lord! When I lived with my mother and step-father, we didn't have the money to feed a dog. There were street dogs and such, but I didn't have anything to do with them. And since I've been in Dol Amroth, I've lived with Captain Andrahar. I don't know if he doesn't like dogs, or just doesn't have time for them, but I never thought to ask him if I could have one. The only dog I ever really had much to do with was at the inn I worked at. I worked in the stables, and the stable master had a little dog he kept to kill the rats. She was a ratter, brown and white with short little legs and a stubby tail."

"I know the breed," Tathar's father said, nodding. "We have one or two of them at home in our own stable."

"Master Morlan called her Killer by way of a joke because she was so little, though she was certainly death to the rats! He loved that dog, she was the most cunning little thing. She would do tricks and dance on her hind legs. I used to give her bits of my lunch." Brand suddenly realized that he was almost babbling and gesticulating quite broadly because he was nervous, made an effort to collect himself and laid his hands back in his lap. But Lord Lalven did not seem to notice or mind.

"What happened to Killer?" he asked. "Is she there still?"

"No," Brand said, and grimaced a bit despite himself. "She never would leave the carts alone despite Master Morlan's scolding her. She was always dashing after them and the horses, and running between the horses' legs. One of the big dray horses kicked her one day, caught her square in the head. She died right there. Master Morlan was heartbroken. He took her home to his garden to bury, and never bought another dog, at least not while I was still there. I missed her for the longest time. She was such a happy little creature."

"Most dogs are happy by nature," Lalven said quietly, before changing the subject back to the matter at hand. "So. I understand you wish to take my daughter riding. Why would you wish to do that?"

Taking a deep breath, Brand set forth the reasons he had given the Prince earlier, while being sure to make the recommended omissions. Lord Lalven listened without interrupting him until the very end, when he asked, "Are you absolutely certain that we are not inconveniencing the Prince? I shan't have Imrahil buying my daughter a horse just because she wants to ride." Brand then reiterated what he had written about Princess Mariel's palfrey and how the Prince would truly be grateful if Tathar would exercise it. Tathar's father seemed much reassured.

"That is well then. I heard about your adventure with the slavers," he added with a small smile.

"How, sir?" The story had not been bandied about the court that Brand knew of. His uncle and the King knew, but Imrahil had not spoken of it beyond that, and he did not think Hethlin or Andrahar would either.

"Liahan has been very busy with the testing of the esquires, but he did find the time to take dinner with us one evening. He spoke very highly of you, and said that you saved those three children."

Brand's cheeks reddened. "I was saving myself at the same time, sir. There is not so much credit in it as all that."

Lalven gave him a surprisingly piercing look. "You are a modest young man. I like that. And you come recommended by people whose opinions I trust. You have my permission to ride out with my daughter."

Stifling a sigh of relief that the ordeal was over, Brand inclined his head respectfully. "Thank you, sir." Lalven stood, and he stood with him.

"Would you like to say hello to Tathar while you are here?"

"I would, my lord."

"Then come along and I will take you to her." Morneleg at his side, Lalven led Brand out the study door and down the hall. They went down the passage for some way, past other rooms that like the study, were clean but modestly furnished. Then, to Brand's surprise, the master of the house actually took him out through the kitchen to the stable yard. Like most yards in Minas Tirith, it was a paved stone expanse surrounded by stalls with an overhanging eave. But there were only four horses that Brand could see, in the stalls across the yard. The other stall doors were open and vacant, and several large dogs clearly of the same breed as Morneleg lounged basking contentedly on the sunlit stone of the yard.

The dogs, whose colors varied wildly from white to tawny to brown brindle to various shades of grey, all rose when they spied Lalven and came over to greet him, tails wagging. He was busy for a few moments with much one-handed ruffling of ears and caressing of heads. Brand was watching this reunion when he felt a nudge at his hand and looked down to see one of the slightly smaller, younger looking dogs, a bluish-grey one. The dog sat down for a moment, looking up at Brand with what the boy would have sworn was a grin, then got back to his feet and shoved his head under Brand's hand once more, this time with imperious insistence. Grinning back at the impudent youngster, Brand obeyed and began tentatively scratching the hound's ears, which unlike the rest of its wiry coat, were actually rather silky.

"Your beggar is named Luin," Lord Lalven commented with a smile.

"Is he younger than the others?" Brand asked. "He's a little smaller."

Lalven nodded. "He and those four others," and he indicated another, lighter grey, a brindle, a black and a cream-colored dog, "are my finest young dogs. I brought them to the City in the event that the King would wish to have them, but I've not had a chance to talk to him about them yet. He has been very busy."

"They are the finest dogs I have ever seen, sir," Brand said. "I am sure the King would be happy to buy one."

Lalven gave him a wry look. "You do not understand, Lord Brandmir. The King cannot purchase what he already owns. My family has kept this line of hounds since the days of Elendil, kept them for the Kings of Gondor. If Elessar wishes to have them, he has but to claim them, one or all. Even my Morneleg would go with the king, did Elessar command him to do so. They know their true master."

Amazed, Brand stared at the dogs, trying to comprehend keeping a bloodline pure for that length of time. _I'll wager their pedigrees are **much** better than mine! _ He also wondered how many more dogs Tathar's family had at home. From listening to Captain Peloren and Captain Andrahar talking about horse breeding, he knew that it was bad to breed animals that were too closely related together. And from talking to Imrahil's hound-master, he had a vague idea of how much meat it took to feed a pack. Noticing how clean and well-fed Lalven's dogs were, he suddenly thought he might understand those 'expenditures' the Prince had referred to.

Lalven clapped him gently on the shoulder. "Come, my lord, we will find Tathar in the stables with Medlin and the puppies."

"Puppies?" Brand asked curiously, following behind, the young hound Luin at his side.

"Yes. Medlin was due to whelp when the summons to the City came, so we put her in the carriage. She had the puppies in the carriage on the way here. It was an…interesting journey to say the least. But all turned out well. They are three weeks old now."

They found Tathar in one of the stalls, which was well bedded in fragrant wood shavings. She was much as Brand remembered, though this day her hair was in a straggling braid and she wore a shabby brown dress. Medlin was a honey-colored dog nearly as large as Morneleg. A number of small, fat bodies in various colors crawled about her. Brand stared at them, fascinated. He had only ever seen the odd pet puppy in Pelargir, and they had all been older than these.

"Hullo, Lord Brandmir!" Tathar said with a smile. She was holding one of the puppies close to her, talking to it and stroking its soft fur. "I am sorry but I've not finished your initial yet-I've only got it drafted out so far."

"Oh, that's quite all right, Lady Tathar. I am sure they must take an awful lot of time, they look so complicated. I just came today to tell your father that Prince Imrahil says you may ride Princess Mariel's palfrey. He keeps one here for her in the City, and of course she isn't riding it right now. You'd be doing him a service. Your father has given his permission."

Tathar's face lit up. "Oh, that is wonderful! Thank you, Father!"

"See that you thank Prince Imrahil when next you see him, Tathar. 'Twas a great kindness on his part, no matter what Lord Brandmir says. And on Lord Brandmir's part as well, for suggesting it."

"It was no trouble at all, truly, sir," Brand insisted, generously forgetting the literary tortures he had undergone.

"When shall we go then, Lord Brandmir?" Tathar asked, actually bouncing slightly in her eagerness.

"When it is _convenient_ for the Prince," her father replied with quelling firmness.

"The Prince said that he had to find a suitable escort," Brand said. "I do not know how long that will take, given how busy he is." Tathar's face fell a little, and he hastened to reassure her. "But I do know that he wanted me to write today so that you could go sooner rather than later, so I am thinking it will be soon. Either he or I will send word. I am not really sure how that is supposed to work," he admitted sheepishly, and Lord Lalven chuckled.

"You are doing well enough, young lord. Some of our customs must seem very strange to you."

"They do, sir, if you will pardon me for saying so." Some of the puppies were squeaking indignantly as they crawled over the shavings, and Brand looked down at them, bemused. "I do not see how anything so tiny can grow into one of these big fellows!" and his hand stroked Luin's head, whose tail wagged appreciatively.

"It takes a while. And a _lot_ of food," Lord Lalven said with a smile. "You can go closer, if you like."

"Will the mother mind?" Brand asked a little anxiously, though Medlin seemed mild enough.

"Not while we are here," Lord Lalven assured him.

Brand stepped carefully into the stall and knelt, offering his hand to Medlin to sniff. To his surprise, the mother dog actually gave it a tiny lick. Reassured, he scratched her under the chin and behind the ears, and her tail thumped in the shavings.

"That's good," Tathar said approvingly. "Usually people just want to look at the puppies and ignore the mother. She likes attention too." Setting the puppy she had been holding down, she selected another one, a black one, and offered it to Brand. "Would you like to hold him?"

"How do I do it?"

"Just keep him close to you. They don't like to be held out in the air-they fear they'll fall." Hesitantly, Brand took the plump little body and nestled him in his arm next to his tunic as he'd seen Tathar do. "He's so warm!" he marveled, as his fingers stroked the little back.

"They can keep themselves warm now, within reason," Tathar said. "When they are newly born, the mother does that for them. They are born with their eyes closed, but these are all open now."

"They don't walk very well yet."

"They won't for about another three weeks. But by the time they are eight weeks old, they'll be all over the place."

"I would like to see that."

"We will probably still be here. Will you?"

"I think so. I am not certain." Brand's puppy, which had been squirming, settled under his caresses deeper into the crook of his arm, laid its tiny chin down and closed its eyes. "I think he is falling to sleep!" he exclaimed softly.

"He is," Tathar confirmed. "He trusts you. We hold them when they are little, to get them accustomed to people. I come out here every day and pet them and talk to them. We all do. It's good to get them used to different folk. You're welcome to come if you like." Belatedly realizing that she might be being presumptuous, Tathar looked up to her father for confirmation, but Lalven, who was leaning against the door of the stall, merely nodded.

"I would like that," Brand said. Suddenly, he felt a warm wetness spreading against his chest and arm. "Oh! I think he may have wet me, Lady Tathar."

"Puppies do that sometimes," she said matter-of-factly; then, with belated concern, exclaimed, "I am sorry! That is your good tunic, is it not?"

"It is, lady, but don't worry about it. That is what launderers and fullers are for," Brand said swiftly, and thinking of Maeddan, added, "I am sure that there is someone in the Prince's house who knows how to clean it."

"You are very understanding, Lord Brandmir," Lord Lalven said, then turned towards the sound of approaching footsteps.

"Father! Gwilwileth said that you'd brought Lord Brandmir out _here_ to see Tathar!" a scandalized voice Brandmir recognized as Lady Nelladel's exclaimed. "Oh, and you _have_! You let him see her like _this_, all dirt and dragglement?" Nelladel caught sight of the damp mark on Brandmir's tunic and almost squealed in horror. Medlin's ears flattened at the sound. "And you let puppies _wet_ on him! I declare, there is no doing anything with either of you!"

"Nella, that will be enough." The command was quietly issued, but there was no mistaking the sudden authority in the erstwhile mild lord's voice. In that, Brand thought, he was also very like his fourth-born son. "There is no need for shrieking. Of course I brought him out here to see the puppies. Boys _like_ puppies! And as for Tathar-they are just friends. This is not some great romance here, even if you would make it so. They are both too young for that. If Lord Brandmir sees Tathar at what you call her worst, then he will like her all the more when he sees her at her best."

"Father, you have no sense of occasion!"

"Yes. I know. It was one of the things your mother liked best about me." It was a dry comment, but Lalven's face was sorrowful for the briefest moment. Nelladel saw that, and her manner softened immediately. She kissed his cheek, then sighed, shaking her head in resignation.

"The damage has been done already, I suppose. Enjoy yourselves. Lord Brandmir, would you like Gwilileth to have a look at that tunic? She is good with such things."

Given that his shirt underneath was damp as well, Brand did not feel like stripping to the waist among people he barely knew. "No thank you, Lady Nelladel. If you all don't mind me, it can wait until I get home."

"Very well then." She gave him a friendly nod, turned and went back into the house. Still holding the sleeping puppy, Brand turned to Lord Lalven.

"I was a little surprised that you wanted to see me today, my lord. Lady Tathar said that you'd come for the Council, and there is a Council today."

Lalven smiled. "There are Councils and Councils, Lord Brandmir. For instance, there is the King's Privy Council. Those are his great lords and I am not one of those. Today was a War Council. I am not involved in that either, praise the Valar! The King will meet eventually with those of us who stay behind, and the Prince will want to confer with those lords of his who have come here as well. I _will_ be at those Councils."

"I see. It is all still very confusing."

"You will pick it up soon enough. I believe that your holdings are extensive enough that you would qualify for the Privy Council pool when you reach your majority."

"The Prince said that I would have right to a Council seat, but that the King would decide it. I wasn't sure what he meant."

"The two Princes of the realm and the major lords-Lossarnach, Anfalas, Morthond, and the others-automatically have a place on the King's Privy Council, as does the Captain-General. Elessar has also named certain influential commoners to his Council-heads of merchant guilds, that sort of thing. That has caused some consternation as it is a departure from our traditions, but I think it is a very good thing. All of Gondor's folk should have a voice on the Council. The Privy Council pool is comprised of those lords who are not the major ones, but hold enough land that they could be considered. The King may select further Counselors from that pool. Actually, Elessar can appoint whoever he likes to the Council, but those are the lords who are considered most…appropriate."

Brand contemplated being appropriate for a moment, then smiled at Lord Lalven. "You explain things very well, sir. Like my teachers in Dol Amroth."

"I am glad that I was able to help, Lord Brandmir."

After that, Lord Lalven fell silent and let his daughter take over the conversational duties. Predictably, the talk turned to dogs and horses. Brand set his black puppy down and held several others in their turn, though none of them wet him further. Medlin came in for her share of scratching, as did the importunate Luin, who hung about the stable door. He dared not come in any further though, for Medlin growled at him when he tried to join Brand inside.

"Would you care to stay for tea, Lord Brandmir?" Lalven asked eventually, with a hint of a smile. "I noticed that you didn't want any earlier."

__

Did I offend him then? Brand wondered. Aloud, he replied, "I would like that very much, sir."

"I will warn you, we don't stand much on ceremony here."

"That is all right, my lord. I usually don't myself." Lalven sent his daughter into the house to change and wash up, closed the bottom part of the stall door so that Medlin would not be disturbed and escorted Brand back inside. Morneleg gave Luin a long-suffering look as the younger dog fell in beside Brand. After taking Brand to a guest room where a washbasin was set out for him, to Brand's surprise the family all settled into the kitchen for their tea, though as they did so Nelladel gave her father a meaningful stare which Lalven ignored. Tathar returned in a simple blue dress which was in better condition, and had washed her face and brushed her hair. Gwilileth even sat with them. The fare set before them was simple but tasty, and the tea was served in simple pottery cups that reminded Brand more of his old home in Pelargir than the magnificence that was tea at the Prince's residence. Luin, who had not left his side, was settled under the table, his head resting upon one of Brand's feet.

"Have you been privy to any of the planning for the war, Lord Brandmir?" Lord Lalven asked. "We have heard all sorts of rumors floating about the city, of course, and I thought that you might be able to separate fancy from fact. But if you are sworn to silence, I do not ask you to break that oath."

"I do hear things, Lord Lalven," Brand admitted, curling his hands about his cup. "I do not know if they are the most current things, but the Prince has not told me that I may not speak of them. The Prince said the other night that Dale had asked for our help too late in the year for the whole army to set out, so he and the King were going to go north, hopefully before the winter set in, with a company of Swan Knights and some of Minas Tirith's cavalry. They were going to winter over in Erebor, so that they could plan with the Dwarves and the Men of Dale. King É omer was going to join them in the spring with his Riders and the rest of Gondor's men."

"It will cost Dale a pretty penny to house and feed even those two companies of Gondor's cavalry over the winter," Lalwen mused with the air of a man who knew something about strategy. "That would be why they are all not going now, I suppose."

Brand nodded. "So the Prince was saying. The better part of the Easterlings have retreated, he said, gone back east onto the plains for the winter. He is hoping that what he and the King bring with them will be enough to keep raiders at bay until the spring."

"I am not sure that I am happy at the prospect of Elessar traveling north with such a reduced company. Particularly since he has no heir as yet."

"The Prince was of like mind to you, my lord," Brand said, grinning. "But he said that when he confronted the King with his worry, King Elessar told him that since he'd been wandering alone up and down the whole length of the Wilderland and even into Harad and Mordor all by himself for decades, he thought that he would be safe enough in the company of a couple hundred of Gondor's finest!"

Lord Lalven raised an eyebrow. "Well, there is that. We tend to forget that Elessar is as much a Ranger as anything else." He sipped from his cup. "I was a little surprised, however, to hear that Imrahil was leaving Liahan behind. He is a young man, and fit, and one of Imrahil's best swordsmen and commanders. You would think he would want him close to his side and the King's. Not that I am complaining, you understand. Liahan has certainly gained his share of glory already and he has a new son and we are only too happy that he will stay here with us." But Brand thought he could see worry in the glance the quiet lord gave him, and hastened to reassure him.

"'Twas not meant as a slight, if that is what you are worried about, my lord. The Prince and Captain Andrahar both hold Lord Liahan in the highest regard. It is simply that Captain Andrahar will not be parted from the Prince, and someone must stay behind to teach the younger esquires, and he thinks that Lord Liahan is the best one to do that." Brand had been privy to a couple of those discussions before he and Andrahar had had their falling out. "It is an honor, really-Captain Andrahar is the only other Swan Knight who has ever served as Armsmaster at such a young age. And this way, Lord Liahan is close to Prince Elphir, who will need protecting too, with his father and many of the knights gone."

"And Liahan and Prince Elphir have always gotten along well," Lalven murmured, with a thoughtful nod. He looked across the table at Brandmir. "Thank you, Lord Brandmir, for setting my mind at ease about the matter. I am sorry if I made you uncomfortable with my questions."

"I should not have answered them if I had been, my lord," Brand said simply.

There was a moment of silence, as all present sipped their tea. Then Tathar asked, "Are you going to go to the tournament, Lord Brandmir?"

"Oh yes! I must cheer Dol Amroth on. Will you be there?"

"If I can convince Father or Nella to take me. Which days are you going to go?"

"All three of them."

"Even the archery match on the first day? Father says Dol Amroth will lose that day, because of all the Ithilien Rangers. I do not want to watch that."

"It may not be so bad as all that. My archery teacher, Lady Hethlin, is going to shoot for Dol Amroth, and she used to be an Ithilien Ranger. I hope that she will keep us from being completely routed."

"Are you not somewhat conflicted then about the first day, Lord Brandmir?" Lalven asked with a smile. "I do not see how you could decide between cheering for Dol Amroth or Ithilien, given who your uncle is."

"I suppose that I am a winner _either_ way the first day!" Brand agreed, laughing.

Tathar gave her father an imploring look. "Please, Father-I _must _go see the horse battles the second day. That will be the most fun-Gondor doesn't have a chance against our Swan Knights!" The last was said with a certain bloodthirsty relish.

"I believe that something can be arranged, Tathar," Lord Lalven said. "I would like to see the horse combat as well. There has been some improvement in Gondor's cavalry of late. Elessar has brought in a couple of Rohirric trainers. They will not defeat the Swan Knights, but I believe the horse battles will be close enough that with the archery points going to Gondor, the foot fights will have to decide the tournament in the end."

"Is Lady Hethlin going to fight on any of the other days, Lord Brandmir?" Lady Nelladel asked.

"I do not know, my lady-the Captain has not discussed his choices with me." _Or anything else lately, for that matter!_ "I would think that if she did, it would be in the horse battles. She is very good on horseback."

"I do not care for such displays as a rule, but it might be interesting to go if she were going to fight," Tathar's older sister said. "I have heard the tale of your Aunt É owyn and the Nazgul, Lord Brandmir, of course we all have. But I have never seen a woman warrior fight. Is she very good?"

"I think that she is. The Captain gives her extra lessons, as he did Lord Liahan."

"Liahan speaks very well of her," Lord Lalven said, dropping his hand to Morneleg's head. There came the sound of a tail thumping against the tiles.

"I still cannot quite understand it, why a woman would wish to _fight_ for a living," Nelladel mused. "I can see how one might be brought to fight out of necessity, if one's home were attacked and there was no one else to defend the children. But to become a soldier, perhaps to be wounded and scarred…" She shuddered.

Brand shrugged. "Lady Hethlin is scarred, but she doesn't seem to mind. She says that fighting is the one thing that she is really good at." He grinned suddenly. "She told me once that people were wolves or harts or hounds, and that she was a hound."

Lord Lalven cocked an eyebrow, amused. "A noble sentiment."

Brand drained his cup. "She would have stayed with the Rangers if the King had not asked her to be a Swan Knight."

"Well, I am glad that she is on our side now, if she shoots as well as you say," Tathar declared.

"I am too. I hope that I will see you all at the tournament."

"We will look for you, Lord Brandmir."

Noticing that everyone else had finished their tea and cakes as well, Brand looked to his host, rose and bowed. "I should be going, Lord Lalven-I have imposed upon your hospitality long enough."

Lalven rose to his feet in his turn. "'Twas no imposition, Lord Brandmir. It was a pleasure to meet you."

Brand turned to Tathar and Nelladel and bowed again. "Lady Nelladel, Lady Tathar-it is always a pleasure. I will talk to the Prince about when we might ride, Lady Tathar, and send word to you as soon as I know."

Tathar smiled. "I look forward to it, Lord Brandmir. I will work on your initial. Perhaps it will be finished by the time that we ride."

"I can't wait to see it." With a gracious gesture, Lord Lalven indicated that Brandmir should accompany him out of the kitchen. He did so, the young grey dog still at his side, even as Morneleg accompanied his master. They made their way back through the house to the front door, which Lalven opened. Brand stepped through, Luin still at his heels. He looked down at the dog, unsure about how to compel it to return into the house. Luin sat down and looked up at him, grinning.

"Lord Lalven, I am sorry, but I don't know what to do to make him-" Lalven stopped Brand with an upraised hand.

"It is all right, Lord Brandmir." He looked down at Luin, who looked up, cocking his head to one side. "Is that the way of it then?" he asked the dog, who shoved his head beneath Brand's hand for a caress once more, his tail thumping upon the paving stones. "It would seem that it is. Bide just a moment, my lord." Brand watched, puzzled, as Lalven re-entered the house, only to return a moment later with a braided leather leash, which he slipped over Luin's neck. He offered it to the boy with a sad smile.

"He does not actually need it now that he has chosen you, he will stay at your side without it, but it makes others in the City feel more comfortable. As you have said, they are very large dogs."

Shocked, Brand looked at the leash, then back up at Tathar's father. "Sir, I can't take Luin from you!"

"You are not _taking_ him, he has _chosen_ you. It happens every great once in a while, that one of them fancies a master not of the family." He held up a hand, forestalling Brand's next question. "And no, you need pay nothing for him. Just take good care of him."

"I do not know how to take care of him," Brand said, looking down at the dog in dismay.

"Prince Imrahil knows the way of it, and Liahan. And there are others in his household as well, of that I am sure. And you may always come to me with any questions."

To protest any further would have been verging on rudeness, he knew, so despite his discomfiture Brand smiled, inclined his head and took the leash. "Thank you, sir. He is a princely gift."

"I have always felt that it is good for boys to have dogs. May you enjoy him for a very long time, Lord Brandmir."

"I will, my lord," Brand replied, bowing. Lalven inclined his head and retreated into the house, closing the door. Brand turned to where Talgeth was waiting. The soldier stood, looked at Luin, and shook his head, smiling.

"I don't know about you, but I feel much safer now. And rather useless, if truth be told. I don't think anyone would dare bother you with _him_ around."

Brand suddenly realized that there might actually be advantages to owning a very large, very fierce-looking dog. He smiled down at Luin, who grinned back up at him.

"I suppose we should be getting back."

8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8

Brand's return with Luin caused a certain amount of consternation at the townhouse, but the Prince's people were used to thinking upon their feet, and in very little time he had bowls for his new dog's food and water, an old blanket folded up at the foot of his bed for the hound to sleep upon and the kitchen folk had sent a runner down to Lord Lalven's house to obtain his instructions about proper feeding. By dinner time, Luin had been settled in, and Brand ate his meal with the dog's head upon his foot as he had at tea. Luin and Prince Amrothos were his only company, for the Prince had not returned from the Council meeting and none of the Swan Knight officers were present.

"They're out celebrating," Amrothos explained when Brand asked about where everyone was, spearing himself a slice of roast from the platter. "Finished testing the esquires today, and now everyone, esquires and instructors alike, are out getting drunk in relief. Not in the same places, of course."

"Did everyone pass?" Brand asked, worrying about Hethlin.

"I haven't heard. But I haven't heard anyone didn't either. And this year's lot are good ones. Sometimes there are one or two who are close to the line, but I don't think we had anyone like that this year. So I wouldn't worry, were I you." Amrothos turned his attention back to his food at that point, and Brand fell back into silence. He had learned early on that Amrothos was not much of a conversationalist at meals-he seemed to regard them as an evil necessity required to sustain the body that housed his ever-active mind, and not an opportunity for socialization. So it was better not to try to engage him in conversation unless he offered it himself-he just got grumpy.

But he did seem willing to talk a bit this night. "That's a big dog you've got there," the youngest Dol Amroth prince said, after swallowing his latest mouthful. "One of Lalven's, I take it?"

"Yes, he just sort of came home with me. Lord Lalven said that they do that sometimes."

Amrothos nodded. "I've heard that you cannot buy them for love or money. He would probably have rather given you his daughter. He has plenty of _those_." He looked up from his food, saw Brand's expression and chuckled. "Yes, I know, I know. You and Lady Tathar are just friends."

"Has anyone else in the family ever had one of Tathar's family's dogs?" Brand asked, curious. Amrothos shook his head.

"Not recently, but I believe that Grandfather might have had one of them when he was young. Father says that Grandmother did after she and Grandfather married-she really liked dogs. Father likes dogs well enough, but he's always been too busy, I think, and Aunt Fin liked little sleeve dogs, nothing like your monster. This generation-not so far, but the smart money is on Elphir. He likes dogs like Grandmother did. They're too messy for 'Thiri, though that might have changed since she got to Rohan-I think É omer keeps hounds. 'Chiron's got no use for anything that can't swim, and I'm too busy as well. Never much bothered with pets in any event-though if I were to bother with one, I think I'd have a cat, so long as it stayed out of my experiments. They can take care of themselves." A sudden, wicked smile manifested on Amrothos' face.

"What?" Brand asked, a little worried.

"I was just thinking that I am glad that I am not you, because I can guarantee you that if you want to keep that dog in the house, then Father will insist that it be bathed on a regular basis. And that is a _lot_ of dog to wash!"

Having made that depressing observation, Amrothos turned his attention back to his meal and ceased any further conversational participation. Brand finished his meal in silence, took Luin out for an evening walk, then came back in to struggle with the book his uncle had given him until he got tired. He went to bed, only to find that Luin had no intention of utilizing the nice blankets that had been laid out for him on the floor. Instead, the hound effortlessly hopped up onto the tall bed with Brand and disposed himself upon the coverlet at Brand's feet. When Brand attempted to dislodge him by poking at him with his toes, Luin merely gave him a reproachful look, sighed, then made his way further up the bed and flopped down beside Brand, laying his head upon the boy's stomach. Laughing, Brand gave up the fight and ruffled the dog's ears until he fell to sleep.

Which was how Prince Imrahil found them, when he finally returned from his marathon Council session that evening. Having been told of the new member of his household, he opened the door softly to peek in on his way to his own bed. As the light from the hall fell across the bed, the young hound lifted his head from under Brand's hand to stare at the Prince with dark eyes. Brand, deeply asleep, did not stir.

"Luin, is it?" the Prince murmured quietly. There was the thump of a tail upon the coverlet. "Keep good watch if you will, my friend. I am more than passing fond of the lad." Another thumping sound. The Prince smiled, closed the door and sought his own rest.


	15. A King could do worse

The next morning before sunrise Brand awoke to find Luin at the bedroom door, obviously wanting to go out. So he threw his clothes and boots on, reflecting upon this new responsibility that had been laid upon him. He thought that Luin might enjoy going out onto the Pelenor itself where he would have room to run, so he slipped the leash over the hound's head and headed out of the house. The courtyard was empty of esquires and Swan Knights after the previous night's celebration, the first time he had seen it that way since their arrival, and he took advantage of the absence of supervision to venture forth into the City alone.

There was the slightest cool nip to the air that indicated fall was well and truly on its way, very refreshing after the summer's heat, and a faint pink-gold glow over the Ephel Dú ath said that Anor would make an appearance soon. The upper levels of the City were quiet, though he could see the guards at the entrance to the Citadel. A maid was sweeping the stoop of one of the grand houses as he passed, but paid him no heed, pausing once to knuckle sleep from her eyes.

As he came down into the lower levels, things became a little livelier, with workmen hastening to the many reconstruction jobs that were still going on about the city, and taverns opening early to serve breakfast to them. The thoroughfares were for the most part still empty, a far cry from the bustling traffic they would carry in but a couple of hours, but the guards had already opened the barricade that had taken the place of the Great Gate, and there were farmer's wagons laden with fruits and towing livestock behind them beginning to come into the City, headed for the market.

No one paid him any heed in particular, and Brand found himself enjoying the anonymity and freedom of this early morning jaunt. Once out the gate, he slipped Luin's leash off and found that Lord Lalven had spoken truly-the dog trotted at his side as if he were attached there. He made his way down towards the archery butts, but he did not see Hethlin there, which was not surprising-it was early even for her, and she had probably been celebrating late into the evening.. There was only one archer there, a very lean, tall man in worn and patched leather who was shooting into one of the closest targets with swift regularity and admirable accuracy despite the poor light.

So Brand turned away from the butts and took Luin out into the meadows, encouraging him to run free, which the hound did quite eagerly, fetching a stick back to his master and bowing, tongue lolling and tail wagging, in an obvious effort to coax Brand into playing. Brand laughed and complied with Luin's wishes, throwing the stick over and over again, until the sun was up halfway over the horizon and the dog indicated that he had finally had enough by dropping the stick at Brand's feet and disposing himself there moments later.

"If you think I am _carrying_ you back up that hill, you are sadly mistaken!" Brand told his new dog, who thumped his tail in answer but did not stir. But when Brand moved off towards the City, Luin immediately leapt up and fell in at his side as before.

The taverns were doing good business, he could tell from the tasty odors that permeated the air of the second circle, where there were many such establishments, and Brand paused for a moment, tempted. His stomach was growling loudly. Though a properly princely breakfast awaited him at the townhouse, the smell of frying sausages brought back memories of Pelargir. He rifled the coin in his belt pouch. There was certainly enough there, should he wish to patronize a tavern. The homely sound of the speech of common folk, speaking of common concerns, drifted from doors and open windows, rousing in his breast a wave of homesickness such as he had not felt in months.

"Why don't I buy you breakfast, Lord Brandmir," came a voice at his side, and Brand started, for he had not heard the approach of the lone archer he had seen earlier. The man's garb was not improved by close proximity, it was still shabby and weatherbeaten, and his bow and arrows, though well-kept looked also well-used. But the face was that of the King of Gondor.

"My lo-," Brand began, only to have a royal finger laid over his lips. "Not this morning. This morning you may call me Strider. Would you like some breakfast?"

Brand's stomach chose that moment to growl again. Loudly. Embarrassed, he looked up at his sovereign. "I would, sir."

"Come with me, then. I know a good place." Aragorn looked down at Luin, whose tail was wagging so furiously that his whole body vibrated. "Who is this fine fellow? He's a handsome lad. I didn't know you had a dog." The royal hand reached down to ruffle Luin's ears with an ease that spoke of previous acquaintance with dogs.

"I didn't until yesterday, sir. This is Luin. He is one of Lord Lalven's dogs."

"Lalven? He is one of Imrahil's people, is he not?"

"Yes, my lo-I mean sir. He keeps these hounds, but he says they belong to you, that his family has been keeping them since Elendil's time and that they are the King's Hounds. He has some young ones here for you in the City, if you would care to claim them."

The King tapped his chin thoughtfully. "I believe Imrahil mentioned something about that yesterday. I will have to look into this." Brand's stomach growled again, and Aragorn laughed. "But not until we've gotten some breakfast into you!" He threw a companionable arm about an astonished Brand's shoulders and steered the boy down a side street to a tavern with a sign that portrayed a running dog in bright red. "Appropriate, don't you think?" the King of Gondor said to the hound with a smile as they entered.

There were delicious smells within, and the common room was crowded, but the tavern keep hurried over as soon as they entered. "Good morning, master! Would you and your …son care for breakfast this morning?" He had noticed the contrast between Brand's good quality garb and the patched leather. Then he got a good look at Aragorn's face and froze in sudden realization.

"Your Ma-"

"Quietly, please, MasterTraghan," the King interjected, swift and soft. "I am playing truant this morning. Could you bring us some of everything twice over please? We'll go sit in the corner over there."

"Of course…master," the tavern keep said aloud, having recovered himself. He started to bow, stopped himself and went back into the kitchens. Aragorn led Brand over to one of the few empty tables, in a corner with a good view of the room, but out of the way. They seated themselves, and Luin settled down beneath the table. Brand looked across the table at the King, who was settling his back against the wall and sticking his long legs under the table. In "Strider" guise, he was not so intimidating as he was when surrounded with the trappings of his position. He was quite approachable, really. And since he apparently wished to leave the office behind for just a little while, Brand decided that it was all right to speak to him as if he were just one of the other adults in Brand's life.

"You've been here before, haven't you, sir?" he asked quietly.

There was a glint of approval in those keen grey eyes. "As a matter of fact I have. Lady Hethlin recommended their meat pies to me once, and I have found that they do a good breakfast as well. 'Twas fortunate you were out and about this morning, lad," the King said. "I had been wanting to talk to you about a certain matter and given how long the Councils have been running, I had no idea when I was going to be able to do it."

"They must be running long indeed. I don't know when Grandy came in last night-I waited up for him for a while, but he had still not come when I finally went to bed. You are up early yourself, sir, for such a late night."

"Sleep isn't the only way to rest. I found that I needed some solitude more than I needed my bed, after being locked in the Council chamber for so long. And I need to get my archer's eye back in any event. Imrahil tells me you've become quite the archer yourself."

"I'm really still just a beginner, sir, though Lady Hethlin says my groupings are getting tighter. Why did you want to talk to me? Have I done something wrong?"

"Oh no, lad! I wanted to talk to you about the Haradrim ambassador, let you know what is going on with your case."

"My _case_?"

"Yes. Imrahil, Faramir and I have all lodged protests with the Haradrim ambassador about what happened in Dol Amroth, and he is currently speaking with his government. I do not know what, if anything, will happen to Captain Tufayl. But I strongly suspect that the ambassador will be offering you an honor price on behalf of his government. We have all insisted that some form of compensation is due from Harad for the dangers you suffered."

Master Traghan arrived with their breakfast at that point. Sausages, bacon, eggs, porridge, toast, and the fried spiced potatoes Brand loved were all heaped high on plates and bowls, with cider to drink. Aragorn left off talking in favor of eating, and indicated that Brand should do the same, which, hungry as he was, was no hardship. The two of them ate silently for a time, until the King took up the conversation again, speaking as if he had never left off.

"I almost felt sorry for the man. You have probably seen Imrahil in a fury." Brand, remembering the scene on board the ship, nodded. "I guarantee you that for all his quiet ways, your uncle can be equally…imposing." Aragorn smiled. "And I fancy that I made my own modest contribution as well."

Brand imagined Gondor's three greatest lords in full wrath, with that wrath being directed at one individual, and shuddered. "This honor price, sir. Captain Andrahar has told me a little about such things, and I have been reading a book my uncle recommended about Haradric custom. I just finished the chapter about honor and honor prices. It said that the honor price is greater for lords than commoners, greater for men than for women and that slaves have no honor price-other than the compensation to their owners for their loss, which is a different sort of thing."

"Yes, that is correct. You have a question, don't you?"

"A couple of them, if you do not mind, sir."

"Go ahead, then."

"Are Tullus and Celeg and Eiliriel going to have honor prices as well? And what about the families of the three boys who were taken away to Khand?"

"We did insist upon honor price for your three companions as well. As to the other boys…that is something that Imrahil and I are still discussing with the ambassador. The payment of an honor price by the Haradric government would, of course, expose the fact that their fate had been other than what the Prince had said it was."

__

I don't think Grandy would mind that, if it meant he could help their families,

Brand thought. Aloud, he asked, "The honor prices for my friends will not be anywhere so large as mine, will they?"

"No, they will not," the King said, his voice very calm and even.

"And if this had happened before anyone knew who I was, if I had been the fatherless bastard still, no one would have come after me."

"Though I cannot speak for the constabulary of Pelargir, or Dol Amroth for that matter…most likely not, Brandmir," Aragorn admitted. Brand cast his eyes down and stirred his porridge.

"I do not think that I wish to accept any honor price from Harad, sir."

"I understand perfectly why you would feel that way," the King said gently, as he forked another bite of sausage. "But we _need_ for you to accept this, now that we've made such an uproar about the matter. You may do with the money as you wish once you're accepted it-give it to the poor fund, do something to help your own people, dower your half-sisters. But we need you to take it so that Harad can save face and we can resolve this matter."

Brand looked up and met the King's eyes, frowning. Remembering the liberties Tufayl had visited upon his person and the casual way the Haradrim sea captain had spoken of killing himself and the other children, he said, "I am not overmuch concerned with Harad's face or if she gets it back, sir."

Aragorn, who had seen that selfsame resolute frown upon the face of one of the Fellowship more than once, nodded acknowledgment as he chewed and swallowed his sausage. "I know, lad. And again, I understand. But this is a matter of peace between nations." His voice was still gentle, but insistent. He was obviously going to require Brand to do this.

Dropping his eyes back down to his porridge, as if the answers to all his doubts lay in its gelid depths, Brand considered what he should say. _What was it that Master Morlan told me when I left Dol Amroth, not to get willful with the Captain? I wonder what he would think if he could see me now, getting willful with the **King**! _He understood the necessity Aragorn spoke of, but this whole business did not sit well with him. _It looks as if I'm being bought off **again**! _He had never thought to seek compensation for his suffering-his only concern had been that Tufayl would be brought to justice by his own people when because of his oath Dol Amroth could not do so-unless Tufayl were stupid enough to venture into Gondorian waters again. He knew that that was not likely to happen. Brand wanted such a thing as had happened to him to never happen again, wanted an example to be made, so that no other parents would have to suffer the fear and grief that Tullus' and Celeg's and Eiliriel's parents had. Not to mention the parents of those three boys, who believed their sons were dead because of a falsehood delivered for compassion's sake by his usually scrupulously honorable great-uncle. And if that wasn't going to happen, any other sort of settlement seemed rather pointless. But one did _not _refuse the King…

__

Tufayl not being able to trade in Gondor ever again just doesn't seem like enough of a punishment for what he did. 'Chiron had said that his government might do something to him, but I don't think it has, or surely they would have told Grandy. And since he won't ever be punished, why take money? It doesn't really make anything better. It will mean something to the families of the children that were with me, but it won't bring those other boys back!

Something Amrothos had told him once popped suddenly into his head. Brand had come upon the young Prince in the garden, sitting under a tree seemingly half-asleep, watching one of the fountains. When asked if he were all right, for he looked rather disgruntled, Amrothos had said, "Actually, I'm trying to solve a problem with one of my experiments."

"But you're out here," Brand had said, puzzled. Whatever it was Amrothos was doing, it didn't look like work to him. "Isn't your experiment in your workroom?"

"Yes, it is," Amrothos replied with a stretch and a yawn. "But I've been going at it straight on for a while now, with no luck at all. I've found that sometimes, if you sidle up to a problem instead, it solves itself."

__

Sidle up to a problem…

Brand looked back up. "Sir…does the honor price have to be _money_? That book I've been reading said that sometimes it was something else, that sometimes there were conditions or actions to be taken to make the injured party whole."

The King cocked an eyebrow. "Yes, that is true, though it is not quite so common. What did you have in mind?"

"Those first three boys that Captain Tufayl took. When Grandy got him to admit he had taken them, and found out where they were, Grandy said that they were out of his reach. But I'll wager they're not out of Harad's reach. I don't care about money-that's the easy way out for them. The honor price I want is this-I want the Haradric government to find out what happened to those boys. If they're dead, I want proof of it. And if they're alive, I want them returned to their families. And honor price paid to the families. It's not been a year yet-they can't all three be dead." He laid his spoon down and looked Aragorn straight in the eye.

"I know what it feels like, to think that no one will be able to find you and come for you. They are probably scared and in despair. I want that to change. _That_ is my honor price, sir, for Lord Brandmir and Brand of Pelargir both."

The King's face was unreadable. Brand watched anxiously as he settled further back into his chair, reached into his belt pouch, pulled out his pipe and tobacco pouch, loaded the pipe and lighted it, all in silence. _Have I angered him with my impertinence?_ The fragrance of the pipe-weed began to fill the air, as Aragorn took a couple puffs.

"The tavern keeper mistook you for my son when we came in," he said at last. "A King could do worse. Much worse." He chuckled as the compliment registered and Brand went beet-red. "As I told you earlier, we have pressed the ambassador upon that subject a little, and while he admits to the justice of our claim and given our stations certainly does not want to offend us, there have also been many complaints about the impossibility and the expense and effort involved. But if you, as the injured party, add your insistence to ours, then he will have little choice. Is that truly what you wish to do, Brandmir? You are losing out on quite a bit of money this way."

Brand collected himself and nodded. "It is, sir. I don't care about the money. What do I need that I don't already have?"

"Wise lad! And would you be willing to speak with the Haradrim ambassador yourself? Myself, your uncle and great-uncle would all be with you when you did."

"I would, sir."

"Excellent!" With a smile of approval that Brand would have cheerfully died for, the King sat up and reached across the table to squeeze his forearm in a warrior grip. Brand squeezed back, though it was like gripping iron.

"I will send for you when next we speak to him. But enough of business for now! Our breakfast is getting cold! Tell me some more about these dogs!"

They managed to finish off the huge breakfast that had been laid before them as Brand told the King about his visit to Lalven's house. Luin was rewarded for his good behavior with a couple of strips of bacon, which he accepted daintily, then politely licked Brand's fingers clean afterwards.

"No more than that," the King said with a smile. "You do not want to make him sick. There are hounds very much like this in my peoples' lands in the north. I have to wonder Lalven's are from the same bloodline. I do need to talk to the man."

They moved on from there to archery, and Aragorn spoke of how the Rangers hunted and patrolled in the north, which was fascinating to Brand. The King was a good storyteller, and his decades of vagabond existence gave him plenty of material to draw upon. But eventually he looked at the quality of the light coming in through the window and said that he must go.

"I will be missed, and I suspect you will be as well." The tavern-keeper being well paid for both his breakfast and his discretion, King, lordling and hound went forth into the morning. Traffic had increased considerably in the last hour, and the shops were opening up. Aragorn's height and his woodsman's garb did draw a look or two from passers by, but no one seemed to make the connection with the exalted King of Gondor. His long legs made light of the climb back up to the higher levels of the city, and Brand had to scamper once or twice to keep up.

They arrived at the townhouse to find Prince Imrahil and Captain Andrahar conferring in the courtyard. The Captain was perfectly turned out as usual, but the Prince wore his robe and slippers over his breeches and shirt, and was clutching a mug of bean-tea almost desperately.

"I am sure that it is nothing, Andra," the Prince was saying. "The lad probably just took his dog out for a run."

"What dog is this?" Andrahar demanded. "I know nothing of any dog! Does he not understand that he cannot just wander about the City as he pleases? Did what happened in Dol Amroth teach him _nothing_?"

"That dog over there." Imrahil made a graceful gesture towards the newcomers. "The one with Brand and the King. Good morning, Your Majesty!"

"Good morning, Imrahil. Good morning, Captain Andrahar," said the King as they approached. "You needn't have worried about Brandmir, Captain-I was down on the Pelennor shooting and I kept an eye upon him the whole time. And I apologize if I was the cause of any concern, but my time has been so scarce of late that I delayed Brandmir's return by taking him to breakfast to talk to him about the case pending before the Haradrim Ambassador."

"I thank you for looking after him, Aragorn," Imrahil replied, "and I am glad that you got the chance to talk to him about that. Besides, Andra," and the Prince's voice suddenly held that imperious tone that even Andrahar paid heed to, "I see no reason why Brand cannot go about in the City on his own. Boromir and Faramir did when they were lads younger than he, as did my own children. And so long as Luin there is with him, I believe he will be safe enough."

Luin, sitting quietly at Brand's side, wagged his tail when his name was mentioned. His gaze was fastened upon the Commander of the Swan Knights, his head tilted a bit to one side, grinning. Andrahar stared back for a moment, then shook himself, his expression settling into one of blank impassivity.

"Then I apologize for waking you for no good purpose, my prince," he said curtly. "Lord Brandmir, Your Majesty-please excuse me." He spun on his heel and stalked off towards the esquire barracks. Aragorn looked after him, eyebrow raised.

"I am sorry, Imrahil. Am I the cause of some trouble?"

The Prince took a deep draught of his bean-tea before answering. "Family business, my liege. You need have no concern-I am the one who has angered him, and I will deal with it."

"I would suggest that you might go back to bed instead of dealing with it."

"The wisdom of the King knows no bounds."

Aragorn chuckled. "A good morning to you, Imrahil, wherever you spend it. And to you, Brandmir."

"Good morning, sir."

The King departed with a cheery salute. When he had gone, Imrahil reached down and ruffled Luin's ears, which gestured was received with enthusiasm and a gentle lick of the hand. Brand gave his great uncle an apologetic look.

"I am sorry, sir, I didn't mean to alarm anyone."

"Oh, I wouldn't say Andra was _alarmed_, exactly." The Prince's voice was very dry. "He showed up at my door a little after dawn, telling me that the maid had reported that your bed had not been slept in."

"It had been, sir, but I made it as I was supposed to."

"So I assumed. But Andra thought that the worst had happened and wanted to know what I intended to do about it. He was _quite_ insistent. Since I could tell that he wouldn't be happy until I left my bed, I did so, and followed him out to the courtyard in an effort to prevent him from calling out every hung-over esquire and knight to comb the City from top to bottom. Which was where we were at when you found us." Imrahil scrubbed wearily at his eyes with his free hand. "Never doubt that he loves you, lad. Recent events might have given you cause to think that he does not, but it is simply not the case."

"I have never doubted his love, sir. He is doing this because he thinks that it is best for me, no matter what he wants. But he never lets me close enough to talk any more."

The Prince sighed. "I could force the issue, but I would rather not. The matter concerns the two of you, and perhaps Faramir, more than it does me-other than the fact that I love you all." He gave Brand's shoulders a squeeze. "I do hope the two of you resolve things sooner than later, however. I would rather not ride north with Andrahar in the state he is in at present." He looked blearily about the courtyard for a moment. The growing, golden light of the morning did not seem to please him. "I meant what I said about you being able to come and go, Brand. But do tell someone in the kitchen at least, when you go out. They're always up early."

"I will do that, sir."

"Good lad! What a ghastly time of day this is." Imrahil trailed slowly back into the house.

Brand watched him go, then looked towards the esquire barracks. He wondered if he should follow after Captain Andrahar and try to speak with him now, but the Captain's mood, whether it was comprised of worry about Brand, the presence of the King, a head-ache from overindulgence himself the night before or all of the above, did not make such a prospect very inviting. _The Haradrim ambassador seems **easy** by comparison!_

He contemplated what he should do with the rest of his morning. There was no sign of Hethlin, so shooting was out of the question. He had forgotten to ask the Prince about the escort for his and Tathar's ride, so that was probably not going to happen today either. Cuilast was at the townhouse, for the healer was going north with the Prince. He might welcome some help inventorying his supplies. Or…

__

Master Meneldor stood me in good stead this morning, what with all that information about honor prices. Maybe Uncle was right. Maybe…maybe I just need to read faster!

So Boromir's son went off to hit the books.


	16. You are well come in our house, brother

Brand spent the rest of the morning reading _Among the Savages._ He found that with repeated practice, the archaic dialect was easier to understand and he began to actually make some progress. At lunch his virtue was rewarded when Prince Imrahil, looking much more lively and awake than he had that morning, announced that he would serve as chaperone for Brand's ride with Tathar that very afternoon. After lunch the Prince saddled his warhorse Caerith while Brand saddled Swift, and the two of them rode down to Lord Lalven's house, the Prince leading Mariel's palfrey. Tathar gleefully joined them, in a riding habit that had obviously been cut down to fit her but had been a stylish garment in its heyday. Brand wondered if it had belonged to her mother.

A pleasant afternoon followed as they cantered over the Pelennor, Luin racing along beside them. Tathar was a surprisingly good rider for all that she had only ever ridden the pony; fearless but not foolish, riding light in the saddle with a gentle hand on the palfrey's mouth. The Prince dropped back to Brand's side and reined close after they had been out for a while, letting Tathar ride on before.

"She needs a better horse," he murmured to Brand. "Something with more spirit than Nínim there."

"When I went to talk to her father he said that he did not want you buying a horse for her, Grandy."

Imrahil did not seem daunted. "Let me see what I can work out. There is more than one way to skin that particular cat. Or dog as it were."

While they were out, they encountered the Queen and her entourage out riding, also enjoying the lovely fall weather. Brand cast a quick look over the company, but Lady Jerulas was thankfully nowhere to be found. His aunt, however, was present and called out gladly when she saw them, reining her beautiful mare out of the troop of courtiers and riding towards them.

"Uncle! Brother-son! You are well met! Come here!"

They obeyed her command, drawing their horses along either side of hers. Éowyn leaned deftly from her saddle to embrace Imrahil with a happy smile.

"It is good to see you, Uncle!"

"You look lovely, Éowyn! Absolutely glowing! How is my great-nephew?"

"He is well. He grows swiftly, and I am told by his nurse that he is a very good child. He does not cry very much. You must come see him again!"

"Oh, I intend to. I'd have been over earlier but for all the councils. They've run so late into the night most times that I didn't want to intrude."

She turned to Brand, and embraced him as well. He was oddly disconcerted by the feel of his arm about his aunt's lithe figure and the soft, golden glory of her hair tickling his nose, and shook himself a little when she released him.

"Speaking of growing, Brandmir, I do believe you're near as tall as I am now!" She raked him and his horse with a piercing look. "We will make a Rider of you yet! That is a fine fellow you have there-is he new? I thought you had a bay mare."

"I outgrew her, Aunt. This is Swift-Captain Andrahar gave him to me for my birthday."

She nodded approvingly. "Well, he will certainly serve-at least until you turn eighteen and I ask my brother to send you a _proper_ warhorse." Her smile was wicked.

"Ahem!" said the Prince, arching his eyebrow with a look of false affront, his free hand stroking Caerith's crest. Éowyn laughed.

"I suppose there might be one or two decent warhorses in Dol Amroth, Uncle-or Éomer would not have encouraged Caerith to dally a bit when you were last in Rohan," she conceded. Her eye then fell upon Tathar, who was hanging back a little, wide-eyed and obviously in awe of the slayer of the Witch-King.

"Who is your friend, Brandmir?"

Brand hastily ran over his introduction etiquette in his mind, then plunged in. "Lady Éowyn, this is Lady Tathar, daughter of Lord Lalven. You might know her older brother, Lord Liahan. He's going to be the Armsmaster when Captain Andrahar leaves for the North. Lady Tathar, this is my aunt Lady Éowyn, my Uncle Faramir's wife."

Tathar inclined her head respectfully. "My Lady."

Éowyn cast a critical eye over her. "You've got a decent seat on you-what are you doing on Mariel's hack? I know you've got better in your stables, Uncle."

Tathar was saved from having to answer by the Prince, which was just as well, for she looked totally confounded by the compliment. "I'd not seen Tathar ride before, Éowyn, and felt it wisest to err on the side of caution. The next time we go out, I will put her on something a little more lively."

Éowyn nodded her understanding; then, giving Imrahil her most beguiling smile, said, "You've stayed away entirely too long, Uncle, councils or not! You must come to dinner this evening, you and Brandmir! And bring Amrothos and Captain Andrahar and Hethlin as well! We will make a family evening of it. Faramir will be so pleased."

The Prince shook his head regretfully. "Though I am always at your service, my dear, I fear that I must disappoint you this evening, at least in part. Amrothos would be only too glad to come, I am certain, but Captain Andrahar and Hethlin are preparing for the tournament and none of the esquires are allowed leave at present."

Éowyn frowned. "Oh, that is too bad, though I certainly understand that they both are very busy." She then gave the Prince an inquiring look. "I am assuming Hethlin will be shooting for Dol Amroth?" Imrahil nodded.

"I am counting upon her to save us from a complete rout at the hands of the Ithilien Rangers on the first day."

"Aha! At last I understand the reason for her recruitment!" Éowyn exclaimed, amused. "Everyone says that you are a foresighted man, Uncle!"

"Not _that _foresighted!" the Prince replied, chuckling. "Besides, it was the _King_ who demanded that I recruit her. He is said to be foresighted as well, but why would Aragorn do something that would weaken his own chances?"

"Because he likes a sporting fight?" Éowyn suggested, and they both laughed. "Is Hethlin going to be in the foot or horse battles? I would like to come and cheer her on."

"I honestly can't give you the answer to that, Éowyn. I don't believe Andrahar has finalized his list yet. I would think the horse battles would be more likely-he has said that she has done very well with her horsemanship."

"And it would probably be easier for her to fight on horseback than on foot," Brandmir's aunt said thoughtfully.

"She used to think otherwise when she first came to Dol Amroth, but I believe things have changed since then," Imrahil agreed. "In any event, you will be able to see her after the tournament-all the esquires will have leave then."

"Then I will look forward to that," Éowyn declared. "And to the three of you coming to see us this evening. You _will _come, won't you, Uncle?"

"If you do not think your staff will be thrown into confusion by a last minute invitation, then we will be glad to come, Éowyn."

"That is wonderful!" She looked over her shoulder, to where the rest of the courtiers were receding into the distance. "I suppose I had better catch up. Would you all care to come with us?"

"Why not?" said the Prince, and they all set heels to their horses and galloped to the Queen's party.

Arwen greeted them all cordially, even Tathar, who was oddly enough less taken aback by the Queen than she had been by Éowyn. The Queen made a point of speaking to Brandmir for some time, which Brandmir suspected was to drive home to the courtiers that Brandmir had her favor. Which idea was both flattering and a bit frightening at the same time. He wondered what his family back in Pelargir would make of him now, hobnobbing with the highest in the land. Several young ladies greeted him quite cordially after the Queen's display of favor, and while they were doing so, he saw the Prince with his head close to Arwen's. The two of them kept looking in Tathar's direction and Brand hoped that something good would come to the girl from what looked to be their collusion.

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They rode with the Queen until the sun began sinking towards the West, returned a very happy Tathar to her family, then made their way up to the townhouse for baths and a quick change. The Prince (who after all had Maeddan to help him) finished his preparations before Brand did and appeared at his great- nephew's door with a bottle of wine in one hand and a bouquet of late roses from the garden in the other.

"Here, take these if you would, Brand. They are for your aunt," Imrahil said. Brand carefully took the flowers in his arms, then fell in beside his great-uncle, who stopped at the library and stuck his head in. "'Rothos, are you ready?"

"Coming, Father," came a muted voice from inside. Imrahil's youngest son appeared a few moments later, carrying a stack of five or six books. The Prince looked him up and down critically. Amrothos was actually better turned out than usual, except for his hair, which looked like it had been washed but not combed and was very rumpled.

"Give me those," Imrahil immediately commanded, while producing a comb from his belt pouch. Amrothos handed him the books and took the comb, a mutinous look on his face.

"It is only Faramir, sir!"

"_And_ your kinswoman, before whom I will not have you appear looking like you spent the night in a hedgerow!"

"I just hope that we won't have that _baby_ with us all night!" Amrothos grumbled as he yanked the comb through his locks. The Prince frowned.

"Faramir was more than patient with you when you were a tiny child, 'Rothos. It is only fitting that you extend your young cousin the same courtesy."

"But I haven't had a chance to have a good talk with Faramir since we got here! You and the King have kept him so busy in councils that I've not even had a chance to show him the Alkhayam yet!"

"I am so sorry that determining the disposition of Gondor in our absence has interfered with your scholarly explorations," Imrahil said briskly. Brand didn't think he sounded sorry at all. "You could, of course, remain here while we are in Dale. You would probably get to speak to Faramir on a regular basis then."

Amrothos gave his hair a final swipe of the comb, looked at his father for approval, and at Imrahil's nod, exchanged the comb for his books. "What? And lose what will probably be my only opportunity to speak with _Dwarves_? No sir, you shan't get rid of me that easily!"

"I am not trying to get rid of you at all, 'Rothos. I am simply pointing out that your situation is at least partly the results of your own choices."

"Yes, sir," Amrothos muttered grumpily, and Imrahil's eyebrow lifted. When he spoke again, his voice was crisp and commanding.

"Furthermore, I want to make it clear that you will _not_ be dragging Faramir off this evening for a little scholar's conference, leaving the rest of us to amuse ourselves without him. And while I do not know to what extent Elboron will be included in events, I would suggest that if you cannot feign a convincing enthusiasm for your new cousin, then you should at the very least keep your silence. If you do not feel yourself capable of conforming to these conditions, please remain here. I would be glad to make your excuses."

"That won't be necessary, sir." The young prince's tone was much more subdued and civil this time, and Imrahil nodded.

"Very well, then. Let us be off."

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They walked the short distance to the Steward's House. Luin did not accompany them, he had been shut up in Brand's room to his great displeasure. Chastisement over and apparently forgotten, the Prince asked his youngest son about the books he had brought with him and there was a brief, amiable discussion about that, but Brand had nothing to contribute on that subject and was silent.

The door was opened to them by Faramir's housekeeper, who beamed when she saw Imrahil.

"'Tis good to see you again, Your Highness! And you, Your Highness, and Lord Brandmir! Do come in! The Prince and Princess are waiting for you in the library." She took the bottle of wine from Imrahil, and having ascertained that none of them had cloaks that needed to be dealt with, vanished back into the kitchens.

They made their way down the hall to the library, where they found Faramir at a desk doing something that looked suspiciously like paperwork while Éowyn sat upon the couch and read a book. He was clad in Ithilien green this night, while his wife wore a pale blue dress that brought out the color in her eyes. She looked up and smiled when they appeared in the doorway.

"Uncle! 'Rothos! Brandmir! So good of you to come!"

"These are for you, Aunt," Brandmir said, going to meet her. She got up and took the bouquet from him, burying her nose in it appreciatively.

"There are no flowers in Minas Tirith as good as the ones in your garden, Uncle," Éowyn said. "I have been trying my hand at a little gardening myself, but my gardens don't look anything like yours."

"I can take no credit for it, Éowyn," Imrahil said, coming over and embracing her. "My gardens are the result of generations of work by dedicated gardeners who persevere _in spite_ of the Princes' efforts to dictate to them what they want." Éowyn laughed.

"Let me find a vase for these." She stepped out into the hall.

"Did you bring your Alkyham, 'Rothos?" Faramir asked, rising from his desk and going to his cousin's side. He examined Amrothos' pile of books with interest after giving his cousin's shoulders a companionable squeeze.

"I did," said Amrothos, pulling the largest volume out of the pile and presenting it to Faramir. "But I have been directed not to monopolize you tonight-" this said with a sidelong look at his father "-so I don't know when we'll be able to talk about it."

Faramir ran a hand wistfully over the embossed cover. "For this, I'll find the time, I promise. Just you and I, before you leave for the North." Amrothos nodded, mollified.

He turned his attention to his nephew. "How is _your_ reading going, Brand?"

"Slowly, sir." Brandmir grinned ruefully. "Though I am plugging away at it. I'm seven chapters in at present."

Amrothos looked up, intrigued. "What has he got you reading, Brand?"

"_Among the Savages."_

"Really?" Amrothos gave his cousin an appalled look. "Whatever has the boy _done_ to you, Faramir? You'll turn him off scholarship completely, not that he's got much love for it that I've seen, if you make him read that sort of turgid nonsense."

Faramir merely smiled. "A true scholar cannot be daunted, 'Rothos. As proof, I submit to you the reading list my father assigned _me_ when I was a lad. Many much worse things than _Among the Savages _and I'm still a scholar despite it. Besides, Meneldor's book has some bearing on Brand's current situation."

"Ah yes, the Andrahar business," Amrothos muttered.

"I am curious as to how the book came to be at the townhouse, 'Rothos," Imrahil said, forestalling any further conversation about Andrahar, to Brand's great relief. "Did you carry it here recently?"

Amrothos tapped his lips with the finger of the hand that wasn't holding the books, brow furrowed in concentration. "I might have. Can't recollect what I'd been working on that I thought that antiquated hack would help with, but there might have been something." He looked around at his kinsmen. "I must have brought it, though I can't recollect doing so-I can't think of how it could have gotten here otherwise."

"You carry so many books with you everywhere, 'Rothos," Brand offered, "that it might have just slipped into the bottom of one of your stacks by accident."

There was a general agreement all around that that was what must have happened when

Éowyn returned.

"Dinner is almost ready," she said with a smile. "We can go ahead and sit, or if you would like to see Elboron, we can do that first."

"It would be best to see Elboron now," said experienced father and grandfather Imrahil, "since he is most likely ready for bed."

"I will send for him," said Éowyn, but was forestalled by Imrahil's upraised hand.

"Let us not disturb him more than necessary. We can go up to him."

They left the library and started upstairs. As they did so, the sound of an infant wailing could be heard above, faint behind a closed door.

"Someone is not happy," the Prince commented. Éowyn frowned.

"He is not usually so loud," she said. "I wonder what is amiss?"

The wails grew louder as they approached what was obviously the nursery door. Éowyn, her brow furrowed, tapped upon it. "Maidh? Gwaloth? What is the matter?"

"One moment, my lady," came a voice from inside. After a brief wait, there was a sound of movement and the door opened, to reveal a young woman of seventeen or eighteen with a pleasant, roundish face and light brown hair. She had obviously been nursing the baby for her over gown was half undone and a red-faced infant squalled upon her shoulder. Her eyes widened at the sight of her lord and his three male guests and she endeavored to finish closing her gown with her free hand.

"Maidh? Where is Gwaloth?" Éowyn asked with a frown.

"'Tis her evening off, my lady, do you not remember?" the girl stammered. "I had my half day today and she is gone now. We did not know you were going to entertain or we would have waited till tomorrow."

"Maidh is Elboron's wet-nurse and Gwaloth is his nurse," Faramir explained to the others. "Be easy, Maidh, the dinner was arranged at the last minute. There was no way you could have known." Brand looked from his aunt to his uncle and back in surprise. He was not unaware of the differences as regarded child-rearing in noble houses, he had heard that noble women often did not nurse their children themselves, but _two _women to take care of _one_ baby? Did his aunt spend any time with Elboron at all?

However much she was involved in his day-to-day care, she did seem concerned for him now. "Is Elboron ill? What is the matter with him?"

"I do not _know_, my lady!" Maidh looked almost as distressed as Elboron, who had little tears running down the creases of his face. "I have changed him and rocked him and tried to feed him, but he only starts to nurse, then stops and starts crying!"

"Perhaps we should take him to the Houses of Healing," Faramir said, his hand reaching out to tenderly touch the downy little head. There was a worried crease between his brows.

"He doesn't _sound _like a sick child," Imrahil observed, his eyes intent upon the baby. Brand thought the same. Amrothos looked as if he would have loved to flee to the library and escape all the noise, but he stood his ground.

"Might I see him, Aunt?" Brand asked, wanting to get a closer look. Éowyn looked startled for a moment, then nodded. Maidh reached for a towel upon a nearby table and handed it to Brand, followed by the baby himself after Brand had draped the towel over his shoulder.

Years of holding his baby brothers and sisters had not been forgotten. Brand stared down into the furious little face for a moment, watching Elboron gnaw upon his hand in frustration, then swung his tiny cousin up onto his shoulder. He began to walk about the nursery, hitching his shoulder in practiced rhythm while he rubbed the small back in gentle circles and stroked the dark fuzz on his head with careful fingertips.

"Hist now, whatever is the matter with you?" he cooed to his cousin, lapsing back into the speech patterns of his childhood. "Why do you want to be carrying on so?" Elboron wailed twice more then subsided into hiccups, to the fascination of the adults watching.

"Thank the Valar!" Amrothos murmured fervently, only to be quelled by a stern glance from his father.

"This won't hold him long," Brand warned them. "I think the trouble is he's hungry."

"But I have _tried _to feed him!" Maidh was almost crying. "He won't eat! He starts, then spits it out."

Brand pondered that for a moment as he circled around the nursery. Then, as he passed close to Maidh, he caught it. The lass was a cleanly one, but clinging to her hair was a faint whiff that called back memories of home.

"Your Mum makes a good baked onion pie, does she?" he asked the nurse. Maidh's eyes grew wide in astonishment.

"Aye, that she does, my…lord. How did you know? The very best!"

"And you had some for lunch today?"

"That I did-they don't make it here and I do love it so."

"I think that is the problem. The taste has gotten into the milk and Elboron doesn't like it."

"I never heard of such a thing!" Maidh protested. "Mum ate them all the time when she was nursing us!"

"My mum did the same when she was nursing us," Brand agreed, "until it came to Baran, my youngest brother. He was doing the same as Elboron here and Mum was at her wits' end until she talked to the midwife. The midwife said some babies are picky about the taste of the milk, so Mum had to stop eating onions or cabbage or anything really tasty while she was nursing him. Drove her near mad, I can tell you. What does Elboron eat when you're not here?"

"We've got a goat out in the stables," Faramir answered.

"Well then, let's have some goat's milk for him. If he drinks that, then that's what the problem is. If he doesn't, then perhaps you ought to take him to the Houses and have them look him over."

"I will have some milk fetched straight away!" Éowyn said, the prospect of action obviously relieving her mind greatly. She paused in the doorway, belatedly remembering her duties as hostess. "Would you all care to go ahead and sit to dinner? I will join you in a little while."

"Since I have Elboron quiet right now, I'd just as soon wait until he's settled, Aunt," Brand said. "Please everyone, go ahead without me if you like."

"I will tell the cooks to hold dinner," Faramir said. "It can wait a few minutes."

"Come, Amrothos," Imrahil commanded. "Speaking of cooks, I think that there are enough in this particular kitchen. We will wait in the library, Faramir."

Amrothos did not need to be told twice. The room emptied out and Brand was left with the wet-nurse.

"You'll need to milk out, so fresh can come in, if it's the onions troubling him," Brand told her, blushing a bit. "Most likely by morning things will be all right again."

"Are you from the country, my lord?" Maidh asked curiously, watching him pace and murmur to Elboron. The baby was hiccupping still, but had not started crying again.

"No. Dol Amroth by way of Pelargir. Why?"

"Country lords aren't so particular as city folk. More down to earth, as it were. I thought you must be, since you know so much about babies."

"Four younger brothers and sisters is why I know so much about babies, as well as a couple of them that didn't live. But no, I'm not a country lord, just a new one. Since August, so it's not been official that long at all."

Maidh's eyes widened once more. "I didn't think they ever _made_ lords, just that they were born."

"It doesn't happen often, in the usual way of things. And I can tell you I worry a lot about doing a good job of it."

The wet-nurse, busying herself with tidying the room, snorted. "This kingdom could do with more nobles as has their feet on the ground rather than their noses in the air. A lord who knows how the common folk actually live? You'll do just _fine_, my lord."

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Éowyn returned very swiftly with the goat's milk, given that she would have had to find someone to actually milk the animal. Brand seated himself in a chair and took the nursing cup she offered. To everyone's relief, Elboron accepted it eagerly and his reddened complexion began to clear as his stomach filled. After some time had passed, Éowyn touched Brand's arm.

"You may leave that to Maidh now, Brand. Dinner is waiting."

Seeing the displeased look his aunt was directing towards the wet-nurse, Brand said quickly, "It wasn't Maidh's fault, Aunt. There was no way she could have known. Most babies are not so…particular in their tastes."

The ire in Éowyn's glance lessened but her voice was stern when she said, "You must eat only bland and sweet things henceforth, Maidh-I won't have him upset again."

"I will, my lady," the chastened wet-nurse said.

"No more onion pies."

"No, my lady."

They left the room and closed the door behind them. To Brand's surprise his aunt did not immediately take him downstairs. Instead, she gave him an embarrassed look.

"You must think me the worst mother in the world."

"I know that the high-born do things differently, Aunt. I don't think that at all."

"The other ladies and even my maid told me, you see, that I should not nurse him myself. That it was not done that way here. That I should hasten to make myself attractive to my lord again."

"I do not think you need worry upon that account!" Éowyn smiled.

"Perhaps not," she agreed.

"Do high-born ladies in Rohan nurse their babies themselves?" Brand asked curiously.

"Most do, when they can."

"Are the ones who can't not considered good mothers?"

"No, not necessarily."

"Well there you have it." His aunt did not seem as comforted as she might have been. Reflecting upon the evening's events, Brand wondered if she was uncomfortable taking care of his cousin and ashamed of that. He leaned his shoulder against the wall.

"My mother always wept like a fountain for a month after she had each of us," he said casually. "My stepfather and I learned to tip-toe around her during that time. The least little thing would set her off. I asked the midwife once why she always got so sad, because I'd always heard that mothers were supposed to be happy when babies came. The midwife said it was because the humors got all roiled from having the baby inside you and then not having it there. That mothers _weren't _always happy when babies came, especially when they came hard and that sometimes it was months before they warmed up to them but that they always did. That seemed very odd to me, but she said it happened quite a bit. Mother always liked us well enough in the end, so I guess she was right."

Something shifted behind Éowyn's blue eyes. "So that was a very _common_ thing to have happen?" she asked.

"That is what she told me."

"I think I should have liked to have had your mother's midwife. She seems a very sensible sort." His aunt stepped up to him and laid her hands upon his shoulders then, looking him in the eye. "You are well come in our house, brother-son, and _not_ because I need another nurse for Elboron! Faramir and I would be only too happy if you would stay with us when the Prince goes North."

"I am thinking about it, Aunt, truly I am."

"Well, I'll not win you over by starving you, that much is certain! Come, let us go down to dinner."

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Dinner was a very pleasant affair. Topics such as the war or Brand's difficulties with Andrahar were not discussed. Instead, the progress of Amrothos' and Brand's studies, the rebuilding of the city (which was still going on after two years) and the upcoming tournament were the subjects of conversation.

"Will you be able to attend, Faramir?" the Prince asked. His nephew shrugged.

"I am hoping to attend all three days, but I am not certain that I will be able to. There is so much still to do and as the King will be required to attend, it falls to me to do it. I will definitely be watching the archery the first day-I must cheer my Rangers on!"

"And what of your former Ranger? Will you be cheering her on as well?"

Faramir grinned boyishly. "Only to the extent that it does not demoralize my own men! If Hethlin manages to defeat them, I will strive to be a gracious loser." He took a sip of his wine. "How is she getting along, by the way? I've not asked in a while. Judging from the other morning, her shooting hasn't fallen off at all from her Ranger days."

"She's been given time to keep that up. You would have to ask Andrahar about the rest of it," Imrahil said casually, taking up his own cup. "I've been away so much I can't give you a full report. I do know that she passed her tests. They all did this year. A good group of esquires."

Brand sighed in relief, for this was news to him.

Amrothos set his fork and knife down and smiled sweetly across the table at his father.

"Good! Hethlin's passed the tests. She's going to be a Swan Knight. So could we _please_ drop the pretense now? You're among friends here."

"What pretense is that, 'Rothos?" the Prince asked, his eyes hooded as he sipped.

"The tiresome but necessary pretence that you're not in love with Hethlin! You can give it up, Father-we all know!"

Imrahil coughed and set his wine down. "Who exactly is 'we'?" Color stained his cheekbones of a sudden and Brand suspected that wasn't from the wine.

"Your children! The ones who have _eyes_! And functioning_ brains_! Do you think we just _ignored_ that kiss two years ago? And all that business about staying in Minas Tirith? Not to mention the calf eyes you've been making at her every time you've been back in Dol Amroth."

"I do _not_ make calf eyes at Hethlin, 'Rothos!"

"Not in mixed company. But from a distance; yes, you do. I'm assuming Faramir knows as well-he was there for the kiss, after all. And you always tell him things you don't tell us." Faramir inclined his head, a bit of a smile hovering about his lips. "What about you, Brand? Did you know?"

"I did, 'Rothos. I have for a while now." Amrothos's eyebrow flicked up.

"Aren't you the extremely clever lad."

"_I_ didn't know!" Éowyn protested, her eyes alight with curiosity. "Is this true, Uncle? Are you in love with Hethlin? And what is this about a kiss?"

With an uncharacteristic show of hesitation, the Prince cleared his throat, rubbed his temple for a moment, then ran his fingers around the rim of his wine cup while everyone watched. "It is true, Éowyn," he admitted at last. "You were in Rohan when Captain Mablung wed his lady, but we were all at the party afterwards. Hethlin was dancing with a somewhat drunk fellow soldier and he threw her out of the dance by accident. By happy chance, I caught her and claimed a forfeit for the service."

"It was quite the kiss," Faramir interjected. "I'd never truly believed all the tales of Uncle's misspent youth until that night."

"Have some care for my dignity, will you, Faramir?"

"But Uncle," Éowyn said, her expression puzzled, " I saw you with Hethlin when the King escorted his kin to Rohan on their way back home. You gave no sign of being in love with her at all. The horse dance-why did you not declare yourself then?"

"Because I had already proposed to Hethlin and she had refused me. To make any further sort of public declaration would have been boorish in the extreme."

Amrothos was genuinely surprised, a rare occurrence. "You've _already_ proposed to Hethlin?"

"Yes. The same night I kissed her. And as I said, she refused."

"For Valar's sake, _why_?"

"Much as I appreciate your belief in my irresistibility, 'Rothos, the lady had her reasons," the Prince said, in a tone that discouraged further inquiry. "But while we are on the subject-how _do_ my children feel about it?"

"'Thiri doesn't have all the latest news, but you know she'd think it was too horribly romantic for words." Imrahil grimaced. "Chiron thinks you're quite the sly old sea dog and he's rather admiring, if you must know." A snort issued from the Prince's general direction. "Elph's the one you'll have trouble with, if you try to go through with this. He's Mother's oldest and remembers her the best and he thinks it's quite inappropriate."

"I'll bear that in mind. And you?"

"I know nothing about love and when I'm totally ignorant about a subject, I don't make myself look foolish by expressing an opinion. But I do hope that whatever happens, you'll both be happy. Because you both deserve it."

"I'll drink to that!" Faramir exclaimed, and they all raised their glasses. When they had all drunk, Imrahil cast a magisterial glance about the table.

"I want you all to promise me that you will not be discussing this with Hethlin, or pressuring her in any way. She told me once that she did not always know her own heart and that sometimes it took a while for things to become clear to her. I am hoping that in time she will come to appreciate me, but I want that to occur naturally, and not because she's been badgered by my friends and relations!"

They all chorused their promises. The Prince seemed very relieved. Éowyn asked softly, "But, Uncle, how long will you wait? You've waited so long already. Should you not take up courting her in earnest now?"

Imrahil's response was equally soft. "This Dale business must be got through first, don't you think, Éowyn? There is not much point in pursuing the matter until it is over."

_Because one or the other or both of them could end up dead,_ Brand realized with a sudden chill, remembering his nightmare. His uncle made a sudden movement, almost a flinch, and began twisting the Steward's ring on his finger. The Prince gave his nephew a gentle, oddly compassionate smile.

"It's all right, Faramir." The Steward nodded, and then Éowyn turned the talk to funnier matters, a method she'd developed for rating the most shrewish of the Gondorian ladies. Jerulas came in for a fair bit of negative scoring, as did other women Brand had no knowledge of. Amrothos actually kept score, jotting numbers on a scrap of parchment he had in his pouch. But Brand noticed that though his uncle chimed in easily enough, his eyes looked almost haunted. _There is something else going on here. _ But he had no idea what it could be.

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On the way home, Amrothos asked Brand how he had discerned what was wrong with Elboron. Brand explained about the scent of the onions and Amrothos chuckled.

"Deductive reasoning! You are so much like your father! He always claimed he had no love of book-learning, but nothing much got past him! He was smart, and shrewd as well."

"Yes," the Prince put in quietly. "Brand _is_ much like his father. And this evening, I saw something that for a long time I never thought I would see, both of my nephews' sons together. That made it the best of nights-even with you tattling on me, 'Rothos!" Laughter rose towards the stars as they went into the townhouse.


	17. In the name of family solidarity

Two mornings later, Brand was walking with Luin and Lady Hethlin down to the archery field. The written examinations being over, Hethlin had been tasked with continuing her archery practice for the tournament. During the walk, the two archers could see that the Pelennor was changing-pavilions and tents of all descriptions were sprouting like mushrooms after rain. What looked to be a good-sized fair was being created to cater to the tournament spectators. The stands for the main arena were a hive of activity, hammers banging even though the sun was barely up. And the traffic on the main road was twice what it normally was at that hour. Luin's deceptively fierce exterior proved useful, for the pedestrians tended to give him wide berth. He was not much of a deterrent to the carters however, who seemed to have the idea that the Valar themselves had given them the right-of-way. Brand, reminded of his step-father by some of the language that was being shouted, grinned.

"Remind you of home?" asked Hethlin with uncanny perceptiveness, after they dodged one particularly inventive drover. Brand looked over at her, a bit surprised and relieved. She'd been uncharacteristically silent that morning.

"Oh yes! Though I think Stepfather might be able to out-do these fellows. He knows all sorts of cursing words."

"I suspect you know plenty yourself, some of them Haradric."

"I learned a few more on that slaver's ship, I can tell you."

"I can imagine! Sailors tend to be a foul-mouthed lot. By the way, are you doing all right about that? No nightmares or anything?"

The question was seemingly casual and off-hand, but it masked genuine concern. It warmed Brand's heart.

"No, I've not had any nightmares about it. I expected to, honestly, but it didn't happen." The nightmare he _had _had before leaving home leapt to mind then, and he fell silent. Hethlin gave him a penetrating look and he decided to change the subject quickly. He certainly did not want to tell her about _that _dream! Reflecting upon her earlier silence and the fact that the tournament started on the morrow, he asked, "You're not worried about the archery tournament, are you, my lady?"

His shot hit the mark and her eyes widened in surprise. "Aye, actually I am," she admitted after a moment with a bit of a grimace. "I've not shot in competition before. Oh, the Rangers used to get up to contests all the time, but we didn't have an audience. So I'm a bit come over with butterflies. The Prince is counting pretty heavily on me to get us some archery points. He doesn't think the others we field will do well enough to get into the top four, and only the top four count."

"So long as you do the best you can, he won't be angry."

"I know that, but I'd like to do well. Just to show I've kept my hand in."

"Show the other Rangers?"

"Yes."

"I would think that tournament butterflies would be better than battle butterflies."

The lady esquire laughed. "Do you know, I am not so certain about that?"

They had arrived at the archery field. Hethlin stopped dead in her tracks and Brand halted beside her. Despite the early hour, the targets were mobbed and not just with the usual black and silver of the City Guard. Several of the ones closest to them were crowded with archers clad in leather and cloaks of varying patterns of mottled brown and green. Realizing that these must in fact be Ithilien Rangers, Brand looked over at his friend.

"I _thought_ they would be here by now," she muttered. "I wonder if…"

Hethlin pursed her lips as if she were going to whistle, paused and licked them nervously, then to Brand's surprise, she trilled forth something that sounded just like a bird's song.

Heads swiveled in their direction, then four rangers left the others and strode towards them. Two of them had uniforms that tended more towards green, the other two wore garb that was more brown. The green-clad pair were taller, one of the brown-clad ones was older than the rest and the other brown-clad Ranger had light brown hair.

"Hair's right but uniform's wrong," the taller of the two green rangers noted laconically as they walked up. He had a scar upon his cheek not unlike Hethlin's, Brand noted.

"Ah, but she did know the proper signal, Anborn," the other green ranger, who had captain's bars on his sleeves said. "So I don't suppose we should shoot her just yet."

"Hmmmph, that's enough out of you two," the older, brown-clad Ranger (who also bore captain's bars) declared; then, throwing his arms open, he roared "Come here, Heth!"

Hethlin, her eyes alight and all hesitation gone, leapt forward laughing. "Mablung! Lorend! Damrod! Anborn!"

The next couple of minutes were filled with hugging, back-slapping, exclamations of joy and inquiries about the status of other Rangers and family. Brand and Luin watched in bemusement. Some of the younger Rangers did as well, which told Brand that they didn't know who Hethlin was, for there were obviously others who did and were grinning at the reunion. "It's the Blackbow herself!" he heard one of them exclaim.

Eventually the esquire remembered her manners. "Lord Brandmir, I would like to introduce to you Captain Mablung of the South Ithilien Rangers, Captain Damrod of the North Ithilien and their lieutenants-Anborn of the North and Lorend of the South. Gentlemen, this is Lord Brandmir, son of Lord Boromir."

Brand experienced another of those wrenching moments of disbelief at the order of introduction. _**I **__outrank these renowned warriors? That doesn't seem right!_

Said warriors did not seem to mind, however, and greeted him courteously. Captain Mablung seemed particularly moved.

"You have the look of your father, my lord, and I am _very_ glad to meet you. I will own I was surprised when Captain Faramir wrote me about finding you, but I can't tell you what a relief it is to know that the Captain-General left some of his blood behind."

From the sincerity in his tone and eyes, Brand could tell that this man meant what he said and didn't give a fig about the irregularity of Brand's birth. He also knew from the stories that Hethlin had told him that the captain, despite his undistinguished pedigree, had been not only his uncle's friend but one of his father's favorite companions as well.

"It is a very great pleasure for me to meet _you_ at last, Captain Mablung," he said to the Ranger, offering his hand with a smile. "Lady Hethlin and my uncle have spoken to me of you upon many occasions."

The greying captain gave him a warrior's grip for a moment, then released him and gestured towards his bow.

"You take more after your uncle than your father in some things, it would seem. How long have you been shooting, my lord?"

"Lady Hethlin has been teaching me for two years now, sir."

"That's our girl!" the one called Lorend said with a grin. "The Swannies take our Ranger, so she trains up a Ranger in her stead."

"Lorend!" growled Captain Mablung.

"I think that Lord Brandmir wants to be a Swan Knight as well, Lorend," Hethlin said, giving her former companion-in-arms a warning look. The irrepressible Lieutenant Lorend was not daunted by either his captain's growl or Hethlin's glower.

"Did she tell you anything about _me_, Lord Brandmir?"

"He doesn't look old enough for most that could be said about _you_," Captain Damrod commented.

"Damrod, Brandmir is blooded," Hethlin said quietly. The younger captain gave Brand a surprised, reassessing look.

"Truly?"

"Yes. And we won't speak of it here. I'll tell you about it later. _After_ we shoot! I can treat you all to lunch if you like-I've got the afternoon off duty."

Lorend grinned and waggled a hand. "Whoohee! We're going into _society_, Rangers! Keeping company with the high-and-mighty Swan Knights!"

"Hardly 'high society' on an esquire's stipend!" Hethlin remarked dryly. "I was thinking more of the Red Dog. Besides, if I'm seen anywhere decent in public with _you_, Lorend, my reputation will never recover!"

Laughter and some rude remarks seconding Hethlin's opinion came from the watching rangers, causing the light-haired ranger to glower in his turn, but obviously no one was taking anything seriously and it made Brand smile to watch them.

"Don't you lot have some shooting to do?" Captain Mablung remarked casually to the rest of the Rangers, turning on their spectators. The Rangers immediately redistributed themselves along the butts and commenced to busily filling their targets with arrows.

"We'll shoot with you and Lord Brandmir, if that is agreeable," he said to Hethlin, who nodded, beaming.

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

* * *

Brand had some archery butterflies of his own at the idea of shooting with such accomplished archers, but they all had an easy, casual way about them that put him at ease very swiftly. And it was easy enough to pick his arrows out of the crowd-they were the only ones scattered around the outer edge of the bulls-eye, which sported a thicket of arrows every round. Captain Mablung had a suggestion or two to make as he shot, but didn't seem to think he was doing all that badly.

"For starting so late, you're doing well, lad," he commented as they retrieved their arrows, giving Brand's grouping a quick look. "Not that I'd expect any less of an archer Heth trained." Hethlin smiled, her cheeks turning pink as the captain continued. "Another couple years of steady practice and you'd be up to Ranger standard-you've got the knack for it like Faramir had. Aside from what Lorend said, when you turn sixteen if you've a mind to do other than become a Swan Knight, then write to me. I'll take you down in Poros."

Surprised, Brand said, "But sir, I don't know how to track or hunt or be stealthy-not anything like that."

"Aye, that's true, but you _do_ know Haradric. That's more important down in Poros. The rest can be taught. Not that I'm trying to dissuade you from joining the Swan Knights, understand. I've fought with them and they're great warriors. They have to be, the way Andrahar rides them. They just do a different sort of fighting than what we do and if you find ours is to your liking, I'd be more than glad to have you."

"Thank you, sir, that's good to know," Brand responded, feeling both a pang at the casual mention of his guardian and not a little pleasure that he would actually be considered an asset as a green warrior. He made sure to focus and shoot the best he could for the remainder of the time they were together.

Eventually the sun rose high enough in the sky that the Rangers began to think of lunch rather than shooting. Brand knew that it was time to take his leave. "Thank you, sir, for the encouragement," he said to Captain Mablung, who clasped his arm once more with a nod. "And it so very nice to meet all of you at last," he said to the others. "I now have faces to go with all the stories."

"Yes, Heth, you'll have to tell us _just_ what you've been saying about us!" Lorend said, "Over lunch, of course. You _were_ buying, didn't you say?" The others laughed, but Captain Mablung looked over at Brand.

"You needn't leave, my lord, unless you've another appointment, of course. You're more than welcome to take lunch with us."

"Yes, Brand, please do!" Hethlin encouraged.

Realizing that this might be his chance to hear some interesting war tales from something other than the Swan Knight point of view, Brand agreed to do so. He gathered his arrows, unstrung and cased his bow, and called Luin to heel. After doing likewise, the Rangers began trooping up the road back into the City and he went with them.

* * *

Lunch was everything he had hoped it would be. Easy camaraderie and lots of tales of the Ring War and the skirmishes since. It was fun to watch Hethlin blush when her exploits were told (which were quite impressive to say the least), and Captain Mablung even had a rather unlikely and very funny story about himself and Uncle Faramir on leave down by the Harlond, hiding behind piles of garbage to escape both the watch and the outraged sailors Mablung had picked a barroom brawl with. Brand wouldn't have believed anything of the sort, had not the Rangers all sworn that it was true.

"Remember how I told you the Captain was collecting black eyes, Brand?" Hethlin asked with a laugh. "That was one of them!"

"I just can't imagine Uncle drunk!"

"Oh, it didn't happen often. Which was why it was always so funny when it did," Hethlin said. "Most of the time, Lord Boromir was responsible. He used to bring really good wine up to Henneth-Annûn and make a point of getting the Captain to drink too much. 'Training up his capacity' he called it. He always claimed Faramir had no head for drink."

A moment's silence fell. Captain Mablung raised his mug. "Let's have a toast, lads, to the memory of the Captain-General. A finer man there never was." Mugs were raised and clinked together. "Lord Boromir!" came the toast. Brandmir found himself moved. His father had obviously been loved by these men.

"Go on, Heth!" Lorend urged. "Tell Lord Brandmir the story about that time Lord Boromir visited and you became a Ranger. We'd fished Heth out of the river a few months before," the light-haired Ranger explained to Brand, "and the Captain was afraid the Captain-General would send her away to some place where she had no kin. He was trying to make other arrangements, so he sent her and the Captain there, who was only a lieutenant then," indicating Mablung, "to hide within the sentry circle until after Lord Boromir was gone. But things didn't work out quite the way he planned."

"You seem to have the whole thing well set in your head, Lorend," Hethlin observed. "Why don't you tell it?"

"Because I wasn't there for the business about the orc spy, or the stuff about finding the huge orc patrol. There are even Swan Knights in the story, Lord Brandmir."

"Really?"

"Yes. You know Captain Esteven?"

"Of course."

"Well, he was there with some of his men."

Brand was thoroughly intrigued at the prospect of a story that included his father, Rangers _and _Swan Knights. Seeing this, the Rangers decided to take turns, with Mablung starting the tale and Hethlin finishing it.

"So you see, your father is the _real _reason I became a Ranger," she said at the conclusion of the stirring tale. Brand sipped his ale and mulled this over.

_I wonder how much of my father's understanding of Hethlin was because he himself was different? He too was living a secret life-he knew the risks and the rewards._

"It's a wonderful story, Lady Hethlin," he said aloud. "I'm very glad my father took up for you."

"As is Lord Faramir, I'm sure," Lorend noted. "Seeing as she saved his life!"

"I'm given to understand Lord Brandmir has a tale of his own he could tell," Captain Damrod said with a pleasant smile.

Brandmir blushed. "I'm afraid I'm not very good at telling tales," he said at last. The very thought of talking about the slavers in front of all these warriors was extremely daunting.

"I think you're a perfectly good story teller, Brand, and I've had proof." Hethlin said with an encouraging smile. She gave the Ranger captain a pointed look. "But Brandmir needn't tell it if he doesn't feel like it, Damrod. If you want to know the particulars, I'll tell you later." Damrod threw up his hands in apology.

"Pardon me, Lord Brandmir. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"No, it's all right. I guess I could talk about it." He didn't want to seem ungracious, after these warriors had invited him to join their company.

So he began the tale with his walk down into the city and his capture with Celeg and Eiliriel. Captain Tufayl's examination he skipped over, mentioning only that the captain had discussed gelding him. Captain Mablung gave him a grim nod upon hearing that, and he wondered if Poros' Ranger captain, with his greater experience of Haradrim, was filling in the blanks. Keeping the children occupied was quickly covered, almost too quickly, and then he had to speak of the _Foam-flyer's_ pursuit, the captain's orders to kill the children and the battle between him and Nezam. There was no desire in him to embellish as he had done with Callon's tale-the matter was quickly and flatly told, and he paused to take a drink afterwards. Everyone sat very quietly, giving him understanding looks.

The very tall, very taciturn Ranger with the scarred cheek much like Hethlin's broke the silence then, giving Brand a meaningful stare. "It was him or you. Nothing to be done about it. Glad it was you."

Somehow, that was oddly cheering and he found himself able to continue, telling about his threat to fire the ship, the bargain he'd made with the captain and their eventual rescue. There were appreciative chuckles at the end of the story.

"You've a silver tongue to you, Lord Brandmir!" the unquenchable Lorend declared. "I particularly liked the cursing bit."

"It didn't work."

"But it might very well have. You tried to cover everything."

"You certainly kept your wits about you," Captain Mablung added with a smile. "Not that I'd expect any less from Lord Boromir's son."

That was both gratifying and intimidating on some level. Fortunately, the subject of conversation changed then to the tournament and Hethlin became herself the subject of friendly mockery; much as she'd done to Faramir, there was ribald speculation upon whether she could still shoot or not. The Rangers were laughing over their latest sally and her defense when Brand's former escort Talgeth appeared suddenly in the tavern. Scanning the room, he made his way over to them.

"Lord Brandmir? The Prince wishes to see you up at the house."

"Does he require me as well, Talgeth?" Lady Hethlin asked.

"No, my lady. You have leave, do you not? Just Lord Brandmir. I'll escort him."

"Very well."

Brand rose, and Luin got to his feet. "Once again, it was very nice to meet you all! I hope to see you again at the archery bout."

To his surprise, the Rangers all rose and bowed to him. He inclined his head and turning to Talgeth, started out of the tavern. They were almost to the door when he stopped.

"My lord?"

"Give me a moment." Making his way back to the rear of the tavern where Master Traghan stood, he opened his purse. "I'll pay for the Rangers' lunches, Master Traghan." The tavern keep gave him the total and he paid it. "And how much for a round on me?" Traghan smiled and told him. Brand paid that as well. He found that it was actually a rather nice feeling, having enough money to be able to be generous to others. And he knew that he could afford it better than Hethlin. Imrahil had a tendency to give him pocket money on a fairly regular basis, and he just didn't spend that much.

"We'd best be going," Talgeth told him when he was done. "The Prince was pretty firm that he wanted you back up there right away. And he said something about having time to clean up first."

Brand's brow furrowed. "Did I do something wrong? He wasn't up this morning when I left and he didn't tell me I had any place to be last night."

The soldier shook his head. "I don't know for sure, but I don't think so. I think he was just expecting that you'd be back by lunch and when you weren't he sent me after you. I went down to the archery field and the Rangers there told me where you'd gone."

"It sounds like we need to hurry then. I'm sorry you had to go so far out of your way."

Talgeth shrugged. "I'm a foot soldier," he said philosophically. "What else am I going to do but trudge?"

* * *

Imrahil was just finishing his own lunch up when Brand arrived. "Ah, there you are! So you got to meet the Ithilien Rangers, did you? Did you like them?"

"Lady Hethlin's friends are very nice, particularly Captain Mablung." Imrahil nodded.

"Mablung is a great man in his own way. And his counsel is always good."

"Did I do something wrong, sir? I didn't know that you wanted me for anything today or I wouldn't have left."

"Oh no, lad," the Prince hastened to reassure. "The fault is mine. I didn't tell you last night because I just assumed you'd be here for lunch, but the King has arranged that meeting with the Haradrim ambassador for this afternoon. You need to get washed up and changed-we're due over at the Citadel in a little bit."

The bottom fell out of Brand's stomach. Seeing his expression, Imrahil laid a hand upon his shoulder. "This is not going to be something horrible, Brand. The ambassador is actually a rather nice man. And you'll have myself and Faramir and the King all on your side. But he needs to speak to you directly. I believe you've already discussed the honor price business with Aragorn, haven't you?"

"I have, sir."

"Well there you have it. All you need to do is tell him what you and the King decided upon."

"Very well, sir. Shall I wear something in particular?" The Prince nodded.

"Wear the black and silver. Maeddan is getting it ready for you. He'll help you."

The black and silver tunic was the fanciest thing he owned. This did not reassure Brand.

"Run along, lad," the Prince urged. "I've a bit of wash-and-brush to do myself and I'd like to have my valet back."

* * *

Maeddan was his usual highly efficient self. While Brand took a quick bath, the valet put the finishing touches upon his clothing and helped him to dress afterwards.

"The Prince requested that you wear this as well," the valet said, pinning an brooch with Dol Amroth's arms onto Brand's shoulder. "This way, both connections will be obvious to the ambassador and he will realize that he is dealing with someone dear to both the Steward's house _and _Dol Amroth's."

"You can say all of that with _clothes_?" Brand asked as Maeddan turned his attention to his hair.

"Of course, if one is attuned to the subtleties. And the ambassador certainly is." It took but a little time for Maeddan to tame his hair into something the valet found acceptable, whereupon he bowed to Brand.

"You look very well, young lord. And now, if you will excuse me, I must attend the Prince. I believe he wished you to wait in the library for him."

"Thank you, Maeddan."

"You're very welcome." The valet bowed and departed.

* * *

Brand left a disappointed Luin in his room and made his way down to the library to wait. It wasn't long until Imrahil appeared, garbed in a very rich but severe tunic of dark blue silk brocade, also trimmed in silver. He smiled in approval when he saw Brand.

"Very nice, Brand." The door opened and Amrothos came into the room. That was not surprising of itself-he spent more time in the library than anywhere else. What was astonishing was that he was actually much better dressed than usual, in a dress tunic of brighter blue and silver than his father's. His clothing all matched, his boots were polished and his hair was even combed! Brand wondered if he'd borrowed Maeddan as well.

"'Rothos?" Imrahil asked inquiringly, his eyebrow arched in amazement.

"I thought I'd come along with you, if you don't mind, Father," Amrothos said mildly, as if the moon and sun hadn't just left their usual orbits. "In the name of family solidarity. I know the others would want to come, were they here."

The Prince looked at Brand. "It's up to you, Brandmir."

Brand, who was feeling a great warmth within him, smiled. "I'd be very grateful if you'd would, 'Rothos."

The young prince nodded.

"We'd best be off," Imrahil said, and they moved to the door, only to be confronted by Andrahar in his dress blues.

"Andra! Are you accompanying us then?" the Prince asked, a pleased smile on his face.

"Is it not the usual custom when you have dealings with the Haradrim, my lord?" came his cool response.

Brand, who had felt a moment's hope that Andrahar's appearance might mean he was willing to revisit his distancing stance, felt both face and spirits fall.

"Of all the _idiocy_!" Amrothos snorted, giving his honorary uncle a glare before shoving past him out the door. Imrahil's chin lifted and his eyes narrowed. His voice had cooled considerably from its previous welcoming tone when he said, "Very well then, _Commander_. Fall in." Draping an arm about Brand's shoulders, he ushered his grand-nephew out the door without giving Andrahar another glance.

"My lord prince!" the Armsmaster snapped crisply in acknowledgement, following silently behind the three of them.


	18. I claim an honor price of deeds

Many thanks to those who checked back in after such a long hiatus to review the last chapter-Sareh, Rikard of Sweden (belated Happy New Year to you too!), Foxen, Arwen Lune, Guest, halandleg4ever, awaylaughingonafastcamel, valin and Acacia59601. It was extremely encouraging to know that people were still following this story!

Tournament begins next chapter, I promise. And as I have some of it written already, hopefully it won't be a year before you see it!

* * *

The Haradrim ambassador Lord Kazim was a man of middle age, with the hawk-nosed features common among his people and grey at the temples of his black hair. His manner was polite and not intimidating at all, though that could have been partly because the King of Gondor, in all his royal finery, and the Steward of Gondor in his black were seated at the table already when they came in. The meeting was being held in one of the smaller Council chambers.

When they had all seated themselves, Aragorn made the introductions, which came with a surprise for Brand when the Ambassador acknowledged them.

"Your Majesty, Prince Imrahil, Prince Andrahar, Prince and Steward Faramir, Prince Amrothos, Lord Brandmir," Kazim said in excellent Westron, "I thank you for agreeing to meet with me."

_**Prince**__ Andrahar?_ Brand thought, startled. He was confused by the order of introduction as well-since when did Andrahar rank his uncle?-but was the only one present who seemed surprised at the form of address.

"We are all well aware that it is impossible for any sovereign to fully control the actions of all of his subjects," the King was saying smoothly. "Many times, the best one can do is to take action after the fact to restore face and honor. We appreciate your willingness to do what you can to mend this matter, Ambassador."

The Ambassador inclined his head. "You are very gracious, Your Majesty." Brand wondered if the exchange of compliments was going to go on all afternoon, but Kazim seemed to be satisfied. From things Andrahar had told him, the courtesies would have been much more prolonged in Harad, as was customary before any bout of haggling. The ambassador was wisely truncating things for his more impatient northern audience.

"Lord Brandmir's travail, and that of his companions was indeed regrettable," the ambassador declared, getting right to the point. "And unlawful, as Harad freely acknowledges. His Highness," and here the Haradrim inclined his head to Imrahil, who inclined his head right back, "has already negotiated and received the honor-prices for the three children captured along with Lord Brandmir, and has promised to see that they reach the appropriate parties. It only remains for the young lord's recompense to be settled." The ambassador's attention focused upon Brandmir, who endeavored to look him straight in the eye.

"The young man is twice royal," the ambassador continued, "and though I understand that his father himself was unable to recognize him because of his untimely and regrettable death, Prince Imrahil and Prince Andrahar have explained to me some differences in custom between our two countries which have made me understand that he is, in fact, recognized, though he is not his late father's true heir. This, and the King's regard, which His Majesty has made very clear to me, as well as that of the Prince-Steward, who has also been _most _eloquent and _determined_ upon the matter," nods to Aragorn and Faramir, with a hint of dryness entering the ambassador's tone, "have made me realize that despite certain…irregularities, the young man's honor price is considerable."

Kazim reached down to the floor then, and lifted up a small coffer, which he placed upon the table. Pushing it forward into the center of the expanse, he lifted the lid. Brand bit back a gasp.

He had always known that Prince Imrahil was wealthy. Only the wealthiest of men could sustain households of the richness and luxury that he did in Dol Amroth and Minas Tirith, not to mention travel in comfort between them. Only a man with the riches of well…a prince…could put troops like the Swan Knights into the field. And there were a host of little things on any given day, like the pocket money in silver Imrahil bestowed so casually upon Brand, that spoke of it as well. But even Imrahil didn't leave piles of gold and gems about and this was the first time that Brand had ever seen this kind of wealth in one place. It was like something out of a pirate tale of treasure.

The little coffer was filled with gold and many gems, darkly glowing. Brand suspected that he would not have brought anywhere near so much on the block in Umbar. And it was sobering to think that here, calculated to precision, was the price of his life now, when before it might have brought a handful of silver and a bit of gold at the most. Yet it was still the same life to _him_…

He gave Imrahil a beseeching look and the Prince reached out and pulled the coffer to his side of the table. Giving it a casual inspection, he pushed it over to Amrothos, who actually picked a few of the gems out of it and held them up to the light.

"Nice. _Very_ nice. Very fine quality," he commented.

Imrahil lifted a brow at the Ambassador. "Sir, will you be able to sustain your household here in Minas Tirith if you give us this? I'll wager it's most of your reserves."

Brand was surprised at that, though when he thought upon it, he realized that it made sense. The ambassador would have to pay him either from his embassy's funds or any personal wealth he possessed. "The restoration of my country's honor is more important," Kazim said firmly. "I am already in communication with my superiors about this. The _Ka-khan _himself wished me to make any amends that I could."

"You need have no fear, Ambassador," the King put in then. "I shall see that your household is maintained until additional funds are sent to you." The ambassador bowed in his chair in Aragorn's direction and though his manner was impassive, Brand thought he detected the tiniest bit of relief.

But he wondered, a bit puzzled, why the King had made that promise when he knew that Brand intended to give the money back. Brand cast a careful glance in his direction and was met by a warm, grey gaze. Aragorn smiled and suddenly Brand understood. _I talked a good show, there in the Red Dog, about not wanting to be bought off. But he's letting me know that I didn't really understand what I was giving up then and if I want to change my mind, that's all right. He knows that I've been poor and what a temptation this is. He'll take care of the ambassador._

And it was undeniably tempting. There, across the table from him, was enough wealth to see his family set for life, the girls dowered, the boys set up in business, his mother and Jacyn comfortable in their old age. He felt almost guilty passing the riches up. While he could make that decision for himself, did he have the right to deny _them _the life-changing wealth?

Now Amrothos was passing the coffer over to Andrahar, whose fingers stirred it but a moment, assessing, before he looked at the Ambassador.

"Sufficient. Barely," came his dry response. Kazim did another of those seated bows.

"Thank you, my lord prince."

The coffer then made its way around the table to Faramir, who declared himself satisfied after a quick look, and Aragorn, who praised the ambassador's honesty and generosity. The King finally pushed it across the table to Brand, his eyebrow lifted the least little bit. Brand took it and stroked his fingers across the cool smoothness of the jewels, the cool roughness of the carved gold, for just a moment.

_He will understand and he might not even think much the less of me. But __**I **__will think the less of me. I told him my intent. I don't think __**Father**__ would go back on his word! And I'm a lord now. I've already helped my family and I can do more in the future, even without this._

He bowed his head for a moment, gathering his resolve and shifting mental gears into Haradric. Then he lifted it, and pushed the coffer back to the Ambassador.

"I claim an honor price of deeds, not gold," he said firmly in the Ambassador's native tongue, and locked eyes with the Haradrim. Brand didn't know if there was a proper formula for such things, but the ambassador did not seem offended. He was surprised, however, and looked a bit wary as well.

"What deeds may Harad do that will suffice you, my lord?" Kazim asked in his language.

Brand shifted back to his native tongue. "Harad has paid back Tufayl's _latest _victims. But he took three other boys months ago. He admitted this and said that they were sold to a caravan bound for inner Khand."

"Your elders have already broached this matter to me, Lord Brandmir," Kazim said in Westron again, a bit of testiness in his voice. "It is somewhat irregular, but I stand ready to give honor-price to their families as well."

"_Not_ good enough," Brand said, lifting his chin. He was surprised at the firmness of his voice under these circumstances, but the ambassador's willingness to dismiss the suffering of those three families, just because they were commoners, angered him and that in turn strengthened his determination. "They will not be made whole by mere money. I want Harad to find and return their sons to them."

He was intent upon the ambassador, so he did not see the reactions of the others at the table to his decision. The King was unsurprised of course, but he looked pleased. Imrahil, startled for just a moment, was almost blazing approval and pride. Amrothos, though hardly privy to Brand's talk with Aragorn, was not surprised at all for some reason and amused as well, most likely at the ambassador's expense. Faramir was also approving in his more somber, grave way, his eyes intent upon Brand as he spoke, nodding just a little as if urging him along.

Andrahar's head was bent over his twined hands upon the table top, for he had seen that look upon another boy's face long ago and that tone of voice before as well, from another boy come for summers to Dol Amroth, and that as well as Brand's decision struck him to the heart.

"This would be a difficult thing to accomplish," Kazim was saying. "With all due respect, I'm not sure you appreciate the magnitude of the task, Lord Brandmir. The slave trade in Khand is very large." He gestured to the coffer. "What I offer would more than suffice to hire agents to find them, if you are truly set upon this task. I doubt it would take more than a third of those funds."

"Then it would seem that I am doing Harad a _favor_, Ambassador, by accepting deeds instead of gold! Will Harad mend what she has marred, or will she not?"

"You will not accept the gold, then?"

"I will not. You have my price."

"And what if one or more of the boys are dead?"

"You will send me proof of that, to give to their parents. And if they are dead, you will pay the honor price to their families."

The ambassador gave Brand an ironic smile. "And what is to keep me from merely forging some documents to save myself considerable bother, young lord?" Andrahar lifted his head as if to speak then, but was stopped by Imrahil's hand upon his arm.

"There are men of honor in Harad, even as there are in Gondor," Brand answered back forthrightly. "You would not be in the position you are in, Ambassador Kazim, were you not one of them. I am confident that you will carry out this charge to the best of your ability."

The ambassador dropped his eyes for a moment, as if considering. He pulled the coffer back over to his side of the table. When he lifted his head again, there was a rueful smile upon his face.

"It is said that your late father was formidable on both the battlefield and in the council chamber. Though I never met Lord Boromir and therefore do not speak from personal experience, it would seem that you take after him. I accept your charge, Lord Brandmir. If Prince Imrahil will supply me with the particulars about the boys who were taken, I will send messages to start the search. I hope that you do realize that it may take as much as a couple of _years_ before we hear anything, given the distances involved? And more time yet to return the young men?"

Brand nodded. "I knew that it would not be quick, Ambassador. But I think their families will be glad to have them back whenever they can be returned. Thank you very much."

"I am given to understand that you reside in Dol Amroth much of the time. Will it suffice if I send reports on the progress of the search to your uncle the Steward, so that he may forward them on to you?"

"That will more than suffice, Ambassador."

"Then if Your Majesty has nothing further he requires of me?" The polite inquiry was tendered to Aragorn, who smiled and shook his head.

"There is nothing more I require today. You have my thanks, Ambassador. And please send my regards to the _Ka-khan _as well. I will also be writing him to tell him how pleased We are with the ambassador he has chosen."

Kazim took up the coffer, rose to his feet and bowed deeply to the King. "Your Majesty is very kind. Thank you." After bowing in turn to the others in the order which he had acknowledged them upon their entering the room, the ambassador departed.

When he had gone, the King stretched in his chair. "That went well, I think," he commented.

"That went _very_ well. Very well indeed!" the Prince said, still radiating warmth and pride. "Well done, Brand!"

"It was a meet and proper thing, Brand," came his uncle's comment. "And a solution that had never occurred to me, to be honest. Whatever made you think of it?"

Brand glanced over at the king. "When His Majesty and I talked about what was going to happen with the ambassador, I thought about all the fuss that was being made over me. And I thought about what would have happened had the slaver taken me when I was just Brand of Pelargir. Which was nothing much. People wouldn't have been sending warships after me and talking to ambassadors. I don't know if the constables in Pelargir would even have bothered to write a report, though I'm sure that at least would have happened in Dol Amroth. I'd have just been sold in Khand and spent the rest of my life there." He sighed. "But I'm still the same person, and that made me not want to take any of the money. The King said that I must, to make peace between nations. Then that book you've been making me read came in handy, Uncle. The chapter about the honor-prices and all. That's where I got the thing about deeds not gold from."

Faramir smiled genuinely. "I'm glad it was a help, Brand. You see, books can be useful at times."

"I've never thought they weren't, Uncle. Reading just still comes hard to me."

"If you can _survive Among the Savages_, much less actually bring anything useful away from it, you're getting a _lot_ better at reading, Brand," Amrothos declared, then grinned. "You surprised the ambassador, that much is certain!"

Aragorn rose and they all rose with him. "Before we go, I was wondering if you would do me a favor, Brandmir," Faramir said, serious once more. "I will be at the tournament tomorrow, but not the two days afterward. There is too much to be done before the army's departure . Would you be so kind as to escort your aunt for me on the second and third days? She has said that she would like to spend more time with you and I think she would really enjoy your company."

"Of course, sir. I would be glad to," Brand said, a bit surprised. "But are you sure you cannot come? I know that Lady Hethlin will be disappointed if you do not see her fight."

"Faramir is being kind and sparing me," the King put in. "There _is _still too much to be done that falls to either of us. And I _must_ appear at the tournament all three days. I have a very good Steward."

Which seemed plausible and well enough, had Brand not caught Imrahil's swift glance between the two men and the look of sudden comprehension that followed. _Is something else going on? _The Armsmaster's narrowed eyes said that he'd noticed something amiss as well and Amrothos had that deceptively sleepy expression that actually meant he was paying very close attention..

But whatever was going on, the mighty of the land were hardly obliged to inform _him_! Brandmir forced his curiosity down as they left the chamber.

After the King left them with cordial farewells, the walk back to the townhouse was silent. That silence was broken only once, by Andrahar, when they were back in the courtyard, which was filled with sparring esquires.

"I must go oversee the practice, and finalize my list for the tournament, my lord prince," he said with an inquiring look at Imrahil."By all means, Commander," the Prince responded, his manner still as cool as before. Andrahar bowed and started to turn away, then turned back. For the first time in a long time, his eyes met Brand's.

"_Never _doubt that you are your father's son," he said abruptly, then turned and strode off before Brand could think to answer.

* * *

"Why did the Ambassador call the Captain '_Prince _Andrahar'?" Brand asked when Andrahar had gone and they were entering the house. Imrahil smiled.

"That actually has something to do with that story I mentioned to you once before, about your father nearly causing a war when he was seven years old." He paused for a moment, to speak to one of the house-maids.

"Nessa, could the three of us have tea brought out to the garden?" She curtseyed. "Of course, my lord prince."

They went out to the garden and settled themselves at the table beneath the trees. The sun was very warm and pleasant and the Prince surveyed his flowers, still beautiful with the coming of autumn, with a slightly pensive air for a moment, before turning his attention back to Brand.

"As I believe I told you, we'd just signed a peace treaty with the Haradrim."

"A _ten-year _peace treaty. Father negotiated it. He's the only one who was ever able to get that out of them," Amrothos said proudly.

"That was due more to favorable circumstance rather than any particular diplomatic prowess upon my part," Imrahil demurred, though he did give his youngest a fond smile. "And in any event, the very next day it was almost broken by Boromir."

"What did he _do_?" Brand asked, intrigued.

"Oh, it was nothing really horrible, it just escalated. And to be honest, most of it was not his fault at all. Boromir snuck out of the house to the stables, to see the pony our family had just given him for his birthday. Andrahar was out there as well, taking care of his horse. There was a group of three Haradrim guarding their steeds at the other end of the stable. They were playing bones and Boromir wanted to see if the game were any different than the one he knew. One of them spoke Westron and they were showing him the rules of the game when Andrahar came down to check on him. Which was when the one who spoke Westron grabbed Boromir by the shoulders and said that they were going to have fun with the captain."

Brand contemplated the absolute protectiveness with which Andrahar regarded his adopted family. "I'll wager the captain didn't like that."

"No, he didn't. Not at all. He told the man to release Boromir and the man refused to do so unless Andrahar told him his father's name. You know about that custom."

"Yes. But did he do it?"

"No, he refused and told the man to release Boromir a second time. He said that if he had to ask a third and it wasn't done, that he'd kill the soldier. The soldier refused and asked the name again, taunting him. Andrahar asked a third time and again his father's name was demanded of him. Whereupon he put a throwing knife into the soldier's eye and killed him."

"While the man was holding my father in front of him?"

"Yes. Andra is _that_ good with throwing knives. Then he seized Boromir, threw him behind him and told him to run and find his guard or the Swan Knights. Andrahar went to blades with the other two, and wounded them in the arms." The Prince paused for a moment to stretch and undo his top collar button, then resumed the tale.

"Needless to say, an alarm went up. By the time I got out there, both sides were glaring at each other, on the point of drawing swords and Andrahar was ringed with archers, their bows all trained upon him. Your grandfather Denethor had your father with him, and my father was out there as well. Boromir was weeping at first, but when it became clear that the Haradrim would not listen to anything Andrahar had to say because he was a bastard, he stopped weeping and got angry and demanded to tell the true story of what had happened."

"Did they let him?"

"Oh yes! Asadel, the Haradrim ambassador, was not happy to see the peace treaty jeopardized in such a fashion. The Lord of Umbar had wanted the peace treaty and Asadel was his man. So Boromir stood right up in front of the nobles of two nations and told exactly what had happened, including the fact that he'd slipped out when he was not supposed to." The Prince's expression became one of loving reminiscence. "There was never a single day in his life when your father was not bold and courageous, Brandmir. When Asadel realized that it was the actions of _his_ people that had caused the problem, he released Andrahar and arrested the other two soldiers."

"What happened to them?"

"I do not know exactly, but it cannot have been nice. The two most likely things were that they were taken out back and strangled immediately, or that they were enslaved and chained to a galley bench. I suspect the latter-it would have been less wasteful." Seeing Brand's wide-eyed stare, the Prince smiled ruefully.

"There was nothing that could have been done for them, lad. Asadel did offer them to my father for punishment, but even he could not have simply let them go. Those men were not slaves, but they were common men and they had laid hands upon a child of princely blood. Even if it was _Gondorian_ princely blood, such is not permitted in Harad. My father could not have let them go without losing face and did not care to be Harad's executioner, so he rightly left it to Harad to deal with them."

"The prince thing comes in next," Amrothos put in. "Since I know you were about to ask, Brand."

"Thank you, 'Rothos," the Prince said dryly before continuing. "Seeing that all the commotion had been caused by Andrahar's bastard status and what was perceived as his undeserved elevation among us, my father decided that the best way to prevent such incidents in the future was to adopt Andrahar. So he called upon the three most highly ranked Haradric noblemen there to act as witnesses and declared that Andrahar was his son. Have you covered adoption customs in your book yet, lad?"

"No, sir. But it's coming up soon."

"Well you will find that that declaration made him a Prince of Dol Amroth in Harad's eyes, though Gondor does not acknowledge him as such. Our family records in Harad were changed to note that fact and that is why the ambassador addressed him as such."

"So your father did it to protect him?"

"Yes, at least in part. I might have had to journey to Harad at some point and it is more than likely that Andra would have come with me. It is not impossible that Andrahar's family would have made an assassination attempt on a mere Swan Knight-they know very well where he is-but _my_ brother? That would make them think twice. It was a layer of protection, if not a fool-proof one, and also an expression of gratitude, I think. Andra had saved my life at least twice by then, and my father wanted him to know that he was loved and appreciated."

"That was very nice of Prince Adrahil. How did the captain take it?"

"He was very shocked and surprised. Father took him off afterwards to have a talk and to this day I don't know what was said between them. But Andrahar was much easier with him afterwards."

"That's a good story, sir," Brand said earnestly. _It has certainly given me a lot to think about! _"Thank you for telling me." Imrahil inclined his head in acknowledgement and after a moment Brand pressed on. "But I have another question about today. Why did the ambassador address us in the order he did? Even if the captain is a prince to them, _surely _he doesn't rank my uncle?"

"You noticed that? Clever lad!" Imrahil was obviously pleased. "It is a subtle point and I didn't think you'd notice. The ambassador addressed us in the order he did because he was using Haradric precedence and not Gondorian. And he was doing that because of the whole honor-price business. We'd addressed the question of recompense for your trials in the form of honor-price because the ambassador was more comfortable thinking of it in that way. It was a gentle reminder at the very start that we'd agreed already to use his country's customs."

Amrothos snorted. "Yes, because then he could just throw money around and his government wouldn't have to go to any _real _trouble." He grinned. "But then you went and thwarted that with your deeds not gold thing!"

The Prince gave his youngest son a lifted brow, and received an almost identical lifted brow in response. With a sigh and a shake of his head, he continued. "Meneldor wanders all over the place in that book, Brand. So I know you've not seen the bits on precedence yet, though they rightfully ought to have preceded a lot of the other stuff. It would have been more logical." Amrothos started to interject something else at that point, only to be forestalled by Imrahil's lifted hand. "Yes, 'Rothos, we already know more than we need to about your opinion of Meneldor." Amrothos rolled his eyes, but he was grinning, so Brand didn't think he was too offended.

"One of the main differences between Haradric precedence and Gondorian is that the Haradrim factor in the age of the principalities involved," the Prince explained, folding his hands once more upon the table. "Dol Amroth is an ancient principality, old as anything in Harad. Ithilien is very, very new by comparison. So the first generation of Dol Amroth, the ruler and any siblings, ranks the first generation of Ithilien. Thus-Aragorn, myself, Andrahar, Faramir, Amrothos and yourself. In Gondor of course, the proper precedence would have been Aragorn, myself, Faramir, Amrothos, you and Andra."

"But wasn't the ambassador worried about insulting Uncle Faramir? It seemed to me from the things he'd said that uncle had been very…persistent about getting me recompense."

"No, I don't think so. He knows that Faramir has a good grasp of Haradric custom and would understand what was going on. And he knows how close I am to Andra, so it was probably intended to curry favor with me as well."

Brand sighed, shaking his head. "I just don't understand all these layers and layers of things that people have going on when they do diplomacy! Master Maedan was telling me earlier about all the things that putting this brooch on me would mean to the ambassador," and he patted the Dol Amroth sigil upon his shoulder. "It's all very confusing." To his surprise, his cousin threw back his head and started laughing out loud.

"Oh, it's starting _already_!" Amrothos choked out between howls. "'Poor little old me, I'm just a simple soldier, what could I possibly know about negotiation!' Always said right before your father did some sort of incredible flanking move and beat nobles into line where even hisfather couldn't!"

"There _is_ a decided similarity now that you mention it, 'Rothos," the Prince noted with a smile.

"But I didn't do some incredible diplomatic thing!"

Amrothos snorted yet again. "No, you just made the Haradrim ambassador spend a bunch of his own money and the next two to three years of his life tracking down three Gondorian commoners I will guarantee he doesn't care a fig about! _Nothing_ extraordinary about that!"

"That wasn't me! That was the King and Grandy and Uncle Faramir standing up for me that made him do it!"

"Yes, but _you're_ the one who came up with the idea, Brand!"

Fortunately for Brand, at that moment Nessa came out with the tea.


End file.
